


Gundam Siege

by ammiehawk



Series: Wands, Guns, and Kunai [3]
Category: Gundam Wing, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3791134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ammiehawk/pseuds/ammiehawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second story in Wands, Guns, and Kunai series. With the war of Voldemort now in the open, Harry's life becomes more hectic. How is he going to balance his relationship with his boyfriend with school? And who are the new transfer students? Yaoi</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Place to Hide

Gundam Siege: A Gundam Wing Harry Potter Crossover

By Ammie Hawk

 

Disclaimer: So don’t own Gundam Wing or Harry Potter, even though I love torturing the characters.

 

Warnings: Yaoi, Violence, Swearing, large sections of HP&tHBP

 

“Japanese”

**“Other Languages”**

‘Thoughts’

 

Chapter 1: A Place to Hide

 

“Do we have any ideas?” a small blond asked, nervously biting his lip as he checked through the security feeds on a laptop in front of him.

“Trowa has relatives here in England, which could bring them to us more quickly,” a shaggy haired brunet frowned at another laptop in front of him. “I erased him from the system, along with the rest of us, but that only buys us a little time. We’ll have to keep on the move.”

“We can’t contact anyone’s family,” a quiet baritone came from the auburn haired teen in the corner, his one visible green eye unreadable. “That would be the first place they looked and if they know anything they’ll get hurt.”

“I feel sorry for my sisters,” the blond sighed. “They don’t even know me.”

“We’ll have to leave the Maganacs as well,” scowled a raven haired Asian teen, the first person in the room. “We can’t ask them to sacrifice their lives and peace for us.”

“You’re right of course, Wufei,” the blond shook his head sadly. “By the way, where’s Duo?”

“He went into town with Rashid,” the brunet answered stoically. “Don’t worry, Quatre, his disguise was impeccable.”

“I hope he has some ideas,” the blond, now identified as Quatre, ran his hands through his hair. “He seems a bit unconcerned about this whole turn of events.”

Just then the door burst open, admitting a fifth teen who was trying unsuccessfully to untuck a three foot long chestnut braid from the back of his shirt with only half a hand. The reason for his troubles was quite obvious as in one hand he had two bags and a cage with an owl in it and the other clutching three more bags. Behind him, a large, muscled Arabian carried about ten more bags.

“Duo?” the Prussian blue eyes of the brunet locked with amethyst.

“Oh, this?” Duo indicated the bags. “This is so we’ll fit in. I’ve found us the perfect place to go.”

“You have?” Wufei asked incredulously.

“You doubt me, Wuffers?” the braided teen took a step back in mock hurt.

“Wufei,” he growled. “My name is Wufei. Get it right, Maxwell.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Duo waved him aside, finally setting down his burdens and freeing his braid. “I’ve got a place where they’ll never find us. And Rashid has volunteered to help us.”

“Rashid,” the small blond sighed, “we can’t ask this of you. You have too much to lose.”

“Master Quatre,” Rashid shook his head, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I won’t hear a word against it. I’ve known, ever since our first meeting, that there was something special about you. It wasn’t until Master Duo asked me to take him into town today that I finally realized what it was. Now, I’m not going to hide you or even ask you to tell me where you’re going. I’m just going to help with the supplies for your journey. Now, if the four of you would come over here, we’ll get started.”

He opened two of the bags he’d brought in and began laying out various pieces of wood in numerous types and sizes, and other objects the pilots weren’t quite sure what all of them were.

“I need all of you to pick out a piece of wood and one of the other items,” he motioned to the table. “I will tell you what they are after you have chosen.”

The four pilots shared a confused look, but Quatre decided to humor the man who had been an inspiration to him. His light blue eyes traveled over the various twigs and finally landed on one that looked rather durable to him. He tested his theory by bending and twisting the branch lightly, but no matter what he did it didn’t break. Once satisfied, he moved on to the other materials. This took him significantly less time. He was drawn immediately to a collection of pure white hairs, from which he pulled out one that seemed to glow in the artificial light. He handed both items to Rashid, who took them with a broad smile and a nod.

Trowa went forward next and in no time at all had picked out a light stick and a pitch black hair and handed them both to the Maganac. He was followed by Heero, who selected a stick and a long, dark blue feather that was so dark it was almost black in its coloring. Wufei approached the table last, a frown marring his features. He did not move to take anything from the table but instead pulled something from his forearm that none of them had ever seen there before and placed it in front of Rashid.

The large man picked up the stick and examined it. “Ash and dragon heartstring, 11 inches,” he said contemplatively. “Very well, Master Wufei, it appears I have one less to make. Now, Master Duo, if you will give me your materials, I shall begin.”

The braided teen began rummaging through the bags at his feet and finally pulled out another stick and a jet black hair, with just a tint of blue to it. He handed them over and Rashid placed them with the others.

“I am happy to say,” the Maganac began, turning back to the others, “that you have all passed the test. The items you selected will now become your wands. For Master Heero: oak and the tailfeather of a black phoenix; for Master Duo: yew and, though I’ve never heard it used before, the hair from the tail of a thestral; for Master Trowa: birch and sphinx hair; and for Master Quatre: willow and unicorn hair. I will take my leave now, but I will have these ready in a couple days. Master Duo will explain everything.” With that he pushed to his feet, with the items in his hands, and left the room.

As soon as he was gone the other four turned and pinned the braided teen to the spot with their eyes. Duo sighed as he fumbled slightly with the latch on the owl’s cage, the bird already perched on his arm.

“Have a seat,” he ran his free hand down his face. “Let me just send off these letters and I’ll explain everything.”

He took his time attaching the two letters to the bird’s outstretched leg, gathering his thoughts as he did so. He knew he had to tell them, he just hoped he’d be able to do it justice and not have them scoff or laugh at him. He finally released the owl out the window and turned back to his companions.

“Well,” he took a deep breath and perched on the edge of the table. “I guess I’ll start at the beginning. When I was six years old, I was taken in by the Maxwell Church Orphanage on L2. Shortly after arriving, Father Maxwell and Sister Helen told me about a hidden society, I guess you could call it, on the Sphere that they were both a part of. They told me because I was exhibiting signs of being part of that group as well.”

“Is it something illegal?” Quatre bit his lip nervously. “Are you doing something dangerous, Duo?”

“What?” he frowned. “No, the only thing like that I’ve ever done was piloting Deathscythe. Now, please don’t interrupt, otherwise I’ll never get through this. The society is comprised of witches and wizards and deals with magic. Before you scoff or write it off, hear me out please. I can’t prove that it exists, yet, I don’t have a wand, but I do know it’s real. Aw, damn it, I don’t know how to explain it without showing you.”

“Magic,” Heero said in a monotone, staring at his computer screen, “noun. 1: The art that purports to control or forecast natural events, effects, or forces by invoking the supernatural. 2: a: The practice of using charms, spells, or rituals to attempt to produce supernatural effects or control events in nature. 2: b: The charms, spells, and rituals so used. 3: The exercise of sleight of hand or conjuring for entertainment. 4: A mysterious quality of enchantment: “For me the names of those men breathed the magic of the past” (Max Beerbohm). Adjective. 1: Of, relating to, or invoking the supernatural: “stubborn unlaid ghost/That breaks his magic chains at curfew time” (John Milton). 2: Possessing distinctive qualities that produce unaccountable or baffling effects. Verb. Magicked, magicking, magics. To produce or make by or as if by magic. Magic. Noun. 1: the art that, by use of spells, supposedly invokes supernatural powers to influence events; sorcery. 2: the practice of this art. 3: the practice of illusory tricks to entertain other people; conjuring. 4: any mysterious or extraordinary quality or power; the magic of springtime. Like magic, very quickly. Adjective: also Magical. 1: of or relating to magic; a magic spell. 2: possessing or considered to possess mysterious powers, a magic wand. 3: unaccountably enchanting; magic beauty. 4: _Informal_ wonderful; marvelous; exciting. Verb. 1: to transform or produce by or as if by magic. 2: _(foll by away)_ to cause to disappear by or as if by magic. Via Old French _magique_ , from Greek magikē witchcraft, from _magos_ magus. Magical adjective, Magically adverb. See also alchemy; divination; mysticism; spirits and spiritualism.” (1)

“In not so many words, yes,” amethyst eyes narrowed into a glare at the stoic Wing pilot.

Wufei muttered something under his breath, pointing his ‘stick’ at the braided teen. Duo’s mouth continued moving but no sound was coming out. The other three stared at the self-proclaimed Shinigami in disbelief. Even though they were all well versed in reading lips it would’ve been evident to anyone that the only thing he was saying now were select curse words in several languages.

“How you know of this is beyond me,” the Chinese teen scowled. “But he speaks the truth. This skill has been in my family for generations. I was told that it was a family trait and that was why the clan was banished to the colonies. However, obviously something has been misconstrued. Magic, as he calls it, is very real, as you can see. Though I would like to get to the bottom of this misunderstanding.”

He waved his wand again and the table in front of him rose a good four feet into the air. Trowa slowly stood and began examining the table from all angles trying to find trips or wires creating the illusion.

“It’s not fake,” he shook his head. “We have no choice but to accept it as fact.”

Heero and Quatre nodded. They really couldn’t argue with it at this point. It would be foolish to do so.

Wufei flicked his wand again and Duo’s voice returned in the middle of a rather loud expletive. When he realized this, he rubbed his neck sheepishly and looked around at his fellow pilots.

“Anyway, as I was saying, this world is safe from outside influence, they make sure of it,” he gesticulated wildly. “I just sent two letters to a contact of Sister Helen’s, I think she said it was her mother or some relation or another, but one is from Sister Helen herself, that I’ve been carrying around since I was first told, and the other explains our predicament. She’s a teacher at a boarding school, it’s the perfect cover for us. All we need to do is wait for her to respond.”

888888

Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat down at the kitchen table of her summer home with her fellow colleague Poppy Pomfrey, the nurse of said school, directing a light lunch over with her wand. Poppy had stopped by to check on her, making sure she was still on the right track to recovery after her run in with the Ministry officials at the end of last term. Other than slight twinges, she was well on her way.

They had just started eating when a black owl swooped in through the open window and landed next to Minerva’s plate. Never before had either of them seen an owl of that color. Both women stared at the bird as it stuck out its leg toward the Transfiguration professor. Tied to the outstretched leg were two envelopes, one a crisp white, while the other was rather yellowed with age.

Simultaneously, Minerva removed the two letters and picked up her wand, to check them for jinxes. As soon as the envelopes were off, the owl fluttered over to a perch next to the window and began drinking from the water dish, obviously waiting for an answer. After deeming the letters clean, Minerva broke the seal on the older looking one first.

 

Mother,

If you are reading this, then the most joyous occasion has come to pass: My son has finally made it to the Earth Sphere. I know I told you years ago that my Devan had been killed in the plague, but in truth, I didn’t know. Because of my position within the colony, I had to hide the fact that I even had a child, as it is considered a sin within the Church. I gave him to a nice family who were regular attendees of the Maxwell Church, however, two short years later, the family was one of the first taken out by the plague. Now, four years later, Father Maxwell has just brought in a group of orphans which includes my baby. Now you may ask how I know that it is my Devan. It was his eyes, Mother. He has his grandpa’s eyes. I always remember you telling me about how Father’s eyes always looked purple in the right light, well Devan’s are that way too. Though he goes by Duo now.

Anyway, enough of my ramblings, he’s home now and that’s what matters. Matthew has said that we will plan a trip to the Sphere very soon, but the congregation comes first. It may not be all three of us, Mother, but we will send Duo, hopefully in time for him to attend school. This letter is for such an occasion: if Duo arrives without Matthew or I.

With love,

Your daughter,

Helen

 

Minerva was glad she was sitting down. She knew this letter had to be over eight years old, but what it was saying was just short of miraculous. She had believed for the past eight years that her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson had all died in what was to be known as the L2 Maxwell Church Massacre.

“Poppy,” she covered her mouth to keep from sobbing openly. “My grandson could be alive.”

“Are you sure?” the medi-witch gave her a startled look. The two of them had been the best of friends since their own school days and there were no secrets between them.

Minerva nodded and handed her daughter’s letter over to Poppy. While the medi-witch read through it, she broke the seal on the other letter, not daring to hope that it contained the news that she longed for.

 

Professor McGonagall,

If you haven’t done so, I recommend reading the other letter I sent first. I think it’s a letter of introduction, don’t know for sure as I’ve never read it. Now, I’m assuming you read the other letter now, my name is Duo Maxwell. I have a small favor to ask of you and I know you’ll probably refuse, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? You see, me and four of my friends are in a bit of a predicament. We currently find ourselves on the run from the authorities, the normal kind, not Wizarding ones. Now, before I know you’ll accept to take in five fugitives, I know you want answers. Well, never let it be said that Duo Maxwell lied.

Okay, let’s see, where to start? Oh okay, here we go. At the end of the last year, Christmas to be exact, there was a great battle in space, between the Earth Sphere and the Colonies. Me and my companions took part in that battle, and many others before that. We were considered terrorists on the Sphere cause we were willing to fight for what we believed in. When the final battle was finished, we were pardoned for all previous crimes, as they were the direct result of war. Now, however, six months later, we find ourselves being hunted down by the leader of the Preventers, that’s their new law enforcement agency, to see what has been done to us by the scientists who first sent us on our missions. But we all know that nothing was done to us, but no one is willing to listen to us.

If you are still willing to help us after hearing all this, please meet me in the Leaky Cauldron, at ten in the morning of August 5.

Sincerely,

Duo Maxwell

 

“Poppy, he’s alive,” tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. “He’s alive. And he wants to meet with me.”

“When?” the medi-witch looked at her curiously.

“Saturday,” she sniffed. “I have to prepare a few rooms, and inform Dumbledore…”

Poppy Pomfrey barely controlled a laugh as she watched her best friend, the usually composed Minerva McGonagall, flutter around like a nesting bird.

 

1\. http:// www. thefreedictionary. com/magic


	2. A Trip to Diagon Alley

Chapter 2: A Trip to Diagon Alley

 

Mr. Maxwell,

I’m afraid that I myself cannot meet you on the specified date, however, there is a colleague of mine going to be there escorting another group of students on that day. I have also enclosed a list of books that normal sixth year students would require and the classes they are used for. Feel free to choose the books for the subjects you are interested in. After your shopping trip, my colleague, Rubeus Hagrid, will escort you and your friends back to Hogwarts, where I will meet you and have you sit your O.W.L.s.

You will know Hagrid when you see him, he’s over seven foot tall, with black hair and beard. I will see you when you arrive.

Till then,

Minerva McGonagall

 

“We’re in, guys,” Duo beamed, passing the letter to the others. “On Saturday, all our troubles are over. Well at least the mundane ones.”

“We just have to wait for the next few days?” Wufei scoffed. “And what happens if Lady Une and her new underlings find us first? We’re sitting ducks until then.”

“No,” Duo shook his head. “Rashid has already taken steps to ensure our continued safety until Saturday. The house is currently under several concealments and charms. We won’t be found by anyone we don’t want.”

“So what do we do in the mean time?” Quatre bit his lip nervously.

“You study,” Rashid answered, entering the parlor where the boys were all gathered. “When you arrive in the Wizarding world, you will be taking the most important tests they offer. The O.W.L.s not only decide what classes you will be taking for the next couple years, but the future careers you can apply for within the Wizarding world. Now, a couple other Maganacs and I will be teaching you for the next couple days. I will warn you now, though, we won’t go easy on you.”

“Hn,” Heero grunted. “Mission accepted.

The next couple days passed in a grueling fashion for the former Gundam pilots as they learned five years of spells, incantations, wand movements, and potions in that short space of time. If it had been anyone other than the five of them, it wouldn’t have been possible.

888888

On Saturday morning the boys prepared their belongings and got ready to leave. They bid farewell to the Maganacs that had taught them and cared for them while they’d been in hiding, and slipped into the still dark night around them. The plan was to drive to London before the sun rose and disappear into the Wizarding world from there, via a pub called the Leaky Cauldron. While they waited for their contact, they would visit the Wizarding bank, Gringotts, and exchange enough money so they could live comfortably for the next few years.

The plan worked. Though the trip to the bank lasted a bit longer than they expected, they still managed to make it to the Leaky Cauldron in time to meet with their contact. At five till ten a tall figure walked into the pub, tall meaning he almost had to duck to avoid the hanging lanterns from the ceiling. This had to be their contact. Duo slowly pushed to his feet and made his way over to the new arrival.

“Hey,” he greeted casually, “you Hagrid?”

“You must be Duo,” the man said loudly, and Duo was sure he had at least some giant blood in him.

“That would be me,” he shook his head, his braid swinging slightly with the movement. “Well come on over and meet the others, then we can get this thing started.”

Hagrid nodded and allowed the braided teen to lead the way back to the table where the others were seated. After quick introductions, the half giant led them out into Diagon Alley. They went to get their robes first, then their books, followed by their Potions supplies. After the necessities were out of the way, Quatre suggested they go into a pet store. Hagrid followed them into the shop. Upon seeing him, the woman behind the counter waved him over and he disappeared with her into the back room. The five boys just shrugged as they proceeded to look around the shop. It wasn’t like they needed a bodyguard anyway, the only reason they had asked for someone to meet them was to get to the school.

Quatre was instantly drawn to a cage of cats set up on a shelf. He slipped his fingers inside and was instantly rewarded for his daring as a small white kitten scurried over to the bars and began sniffing at his hand. After a moment, the kitten began licking the fingers, and batting at them. With a small smile, Quatre opened the cage door and lifted the feline into his hands. He began scratching it behind the ears as it settled itself in his arms and began purring. Turning decisively he made his way to the counter.

“I’ll take this one,” he informed the woman, who had just returned.

88

Wufei wandered idly around the shop, peering into various cages and examining the animals within. He didn’t want or need a pet, so he saw no need to actually feign interest in any of the creatures. It was as he passed by the door that he felt it. He wasn’t sure what _it_ was, but it was an overwhelming urge to leave the shop. Making sure their escort was still occupied and that he wasn’t drawing the attention of the others, he slipped out the door and headed off down the street, following the strange draw.

He ended up down a shabby looking side street, called Knockturn Alley, but he’d been in worse places than this before. He finally stopped outside a seedy looking shop named Borgin and Burke’s. He would’ve turned around right then and there just by the look of the place, it was definitely a money trap, but the feeling was stronger here, and he had no choice but to see where it led.

A faint tingling bell sounded as the former Shenlong pilot pushed open the door. Shortly thereafter, a greasy looking man appeared behind the counter. He chose to ignore him for the moment as he made his way to a far shelf. He stood on tiptoe and reached into the shadowed depths of the top shelf and pulled out what looked, at first glance, to be a fist sized dark aquamarine. He stared at it for a moment as comprehension dawned in his eyes, before moving to the counter.

“I’ll take this,” he informed the man, who was watching him suspiciously.

“100 Galleons,” the shop keep said without batting an eye.

“Outrageous,” Wufei scoffed. “Do you even know what this is, sir?”

“It’s a stone that is impervious to any magic thrown at it,” the man gave him a condescending look. “Now, if you can’t pay, kid, get out of my shop.”

“This,” the Chinese youth weighed the object in his hand, “is a dragon egg. The reason it is impervious to magic is because the dragon itself protects it. Now, you can either lower your price, or I can go to the authorities and inform them you are peddling illegal dragon eggs in your store… among other things.”

As he spoke the man behind the counter began to sweat, his eyes darting anxiously out the window, as if someone could hear what Wufei was saying. He then looked into the Asian teen’s serious face and knew that he’d have to take a cut, or he’d be out of business.

“Ten Knuts and its yours,” he almost shouted at the now smirking teen.

“Very well,” the former Shenlong pilot pulled out a small money pouch and placed the appropriate coins on the counter. “Have a good day, sir.”

88

Heero and Trowa, meanwhile, were following Duo around the pet shot as he began pointing out various animals. The former Wing pilot shook his head, not sure why he put up with the braided baka. Oh, that’s right, the idiot was the first friend he ever had and one of the few who still put up with him.

Trowa, however, was not paying attention to the former Deathscythe pilot, until his eyes landed on something much more interesting. Sitting alone in a cage, right at eye level, was the strangest looking creature he had ever seen, in real life anyway. It resembled a ferret, even down to the mask adorning its face, but the thing that set it apart from the normal everyday ferret was the set of small horns on the top of its head.

He went over to the cage, now tuning out everything else entirely. The small animal lifted its head from its sleeping position and regarded the former Heavyarms pilot with a shrewd gaze. Heero reached up and slipped his hand inside the cage. The ferret continued to regard him until his hand was an inch away from the creature. After a moment’s contemplation, in which neither human nor animal broke eye contact, the ferret moved forward and nuzzled its head into the outstretched hand.

“Hey, Heero,” Duo’s voice broke the staring match, and Trowa glanced over at the other two, “what about this one? It reminds me of what you were like when we first met.”

“How so?” the auburn haired teen turned his attention to the cage Duo was pointing at and Heero was looking into. The ferret seized the opportunity to scamper up his arm and onto his shoulder.

“Well,” the self-proclaimed Shinigami gave him a cheeky grin, “he’s antisocial, probably thinks he’s Evel Knievel, and doesn’t speak.”

“And what makes you say that?” blue eyes rolled in annoyance.

“When I went to pet him,” the braided teen shrugged. “Ya know, I opened the cage to reach in and all he did was glare at me. And then he turned around and basically flipped me the bird with his tail.”

“Hn,” Heero shook his head and moved closer to the cage before moving on.

“I think I found one,” the unibanged teen interrupted the pair.

“Oh?” Duo went over to Trowa, abandoning the cage that held the sleek black cat.

88

As the former Deathscythe pilot moved away, a dark eye rose to regard him curiously. Who did that braided baka think he was, trying to poke and prod him as if he was some kind of freak on display? He slowly pushed himself up onto all fours and began stretching out the kinks in his back. It was as he was getting a particularly nasty one out of his lower back that he opened his eyes and noticed that something wasn’t right.

What happened to his hands?! And why the fuck was he covered in fur?! This could not be happening to him. He turned around to look at the rest of himself and it was then that he caught sight of the twitching monstrosity known as a tail. NOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

88

Heero had moved on to a couple cages down from the cat Duo had pointed out, when he noticed something happening to the feline. He turned back around and his blue eyes widened slightly as the once small animal grew to almost three times its former size. He watched in fascinated astonishment as the black eyes changed to swirling red. His brow knit together in confusion as he stepped closer to the cage and the animal. What was so special about this cat, well now more of a panther?

He went over and placed his hand on the bars, not wanting to get too close and lose a finger or something. Red eyes locked with blue and he quirked a brow at the intensity of the glare. With a slight twitch of his lips, he reached his fingers inside the bars, in a show of trust and compassion.

“There now, it’s not so bad,” he said quietly, his tone meant to sooth. “Duo’s just an idiot.”

He moved the fingers slightly, brushing the dark fur lightly. The cat turned to stare at the offending digits but didn’t move to stop them, the gaze now turning wary. With a soft grunt, the former Wing pilot opened the cage and slipped his other hand inside and began petting the feline behind the ears. The cat’s eyes closed as he leaned into the surprisingly gentle touch, a deep rumbling purr filling the silence. Heero couldn’t help the smirk that formed at the animal’s total abandon. He continued his ministrations and watched as the animal morphed slowly back into its kitten form, still enjoying the scratching fingers. He withdrew his hand slowly, causing the cat to open its now black eyes.

“You are a strange one, aren’t you?” he shook his head as he lifted the kitten out of the cage. “I think I’ll take you with me.”

The cat cocked its head to the side, seeming to consider the question before giving a very pronounced nod. The brunet gave him a funny look but carried the animal to the counter to purchase.

888888

After they had purchased their animals, (Hagrid had tried to protest their choices but quickly silenced himself at a glare from Heero) they made their way back out to the street. Wufei had managed to join them again before they left the shop, so he wasn’t missed. As they walked, one more shop caught the eye of one of their numbers.

Set against the dull, poster-muffled shop fronts around them, these windows hit the eye like a firework display. Casual passersby were looking back over their shoulders at the windows, and a few rather stunned-looking people had actually come to a halt, transfixed. The left-hand window was dazzlingly full of an assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked. Their eyes began to water just looking at it. The right-hand window was covered with a gigantic poster, purple like those of the Ministry, but emblazoned with flashing yellow letters:

 

Why are you worrying about You-Know-Who?

You should be worrying about U-No-Poo—

The constipation sensation

That’s gripping the nation!

 

“U-No-Poo!” Dou almost doubled over laughing, causing the whole procession to halt. “Can we go in there, Hee-chan, Kitty-Quat, please?”

Their escort had just opened his mouth to say something when the former Wing pilot spoke up.

“No.”

“But Hee-chan,” the braided boy whined.

“No.”

“Come on, just for a minute.”

“No,” and before the former Deathscythe pilot could protest further, Heero grabbed the three foot braid in his hand and began using it like a leash to lead Duo away. Amethyst eyes stared longingly at the vibrant store as their owner walked backwards, being ‘led’ away by his best friend.

When they reached the pub, Hagrid explained to them how to use the floo, and sent them through to Hogwarts. They arrived, one after the other, in a round office that was littered with all sorts of strange, shiny, and whirling instruments, as well as a large red bird sleeping on a perch beside a large desk. Standing in front of the desk was an old man with long white hair and a beard that could easily be tucked into his belt, dressed in a set of dark blue robes with dancing moons and stars on them, and a stern looking woman with her hair pulled back into a sever looking bun, wearing tartan robes.

“Hiya,” Duo greeted, bounding forward. “I’m Duo Maxwell, these are my friends, Heero Yuy, Trowa Barton, Quatre Winner, and Wufei Chang.”

As he said their names they each nodded in turn, letting the braided teen be in charge for now, as these were his contacts.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” the old man began, but before he got anything else out the woman practically threw herself on the former Deathscythe pilot, sobbing.

Duo’s eyes widened comically as they began darting around, looking for any form of aid. Cautiously, he raised his hand and began awkwardly patting the woman gently on the back.

“It’s okay, Lady,” he said nervously, not sure what was going on.

With one final sniff, the woman pulled back, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“Forgive me,” she gave a watery smile. “You just look so much like your mother.”

“Sorry, Lady,” the braided teen shook his head, “I never knew my mother.”

“Nonsense,” she waved him off, now completely composed. “Your mother, Helen Maxwell, was the one who wrote the other letter you sent me. She was also my daughter, and I would recognize my grandson anywhere. Now, I believe the five of you have some tests to attend to.”

“Whoa, wait,” Duo stuttered. “You can’t just say something like that and then change the subject. What do you mean, Helen Maxwell? Are you talking about Sister Helen?”

“We will have plenty of time over the coming year to get to know one another,” she smiled at him. “Right now, however, the examiners are waiting down stairs for you to sit your O.W.L.s.”


	3. Aboard the Hogwarts Express

Chapter 3: Aboard the Hogwarts Express

 

There was no cheerful Hagrid waiting for them at King’s Cross Station. Instead, two grim-faced, bearded Aurors in dark Muggle suits moved forward the moment the cars stopped and, flanking the party, marched them into the station without speaking.

“Quick, quick, through the barrier,” said Mrs. Weasley, who seemed a little flustered by this austere efficiency. “Harry had better go first, with—”

She looked inquiringly at one of the Aurors, who nodded briefly, seized Harry’s upper arm, and attempted to steer him toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

“I can walk, thanks,” said Harry irritably, jerking his arm out of the Auror’s grip. He pushed his trolley directly at the solid barrier, ignoring his silent companion, and found himself, a second later, standing on platform nine and three-quarters, where the scarlet Hogwarts Express stood belching steam over the crowd.

Hermione and the Weasleys joined him within seconds. Without waiting to consult his grim-faced Auror, Harry motioned to Ron and Hermione to follow him up the platform, looking for an empty compartment.

“We can’t, Harry,” said Hermione, looking apologetic. “Ron and I’ve got to go to the prefects’ carriage first and then patrol the corridors for a bit.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” said Harry.

“You’d better get straight on the train, all of you, you’ve only got a few minutes to go,” said Mrs. Weasley, consulting her watch. “Well, have a lovely term, Ron….”

“Mr. Weasley, can I have a quick word?” said Harry, making up his mind on the spur of the moment.

“Of course,” said Mr. Weasley, who looked slightly surprised, but followed Harry out of earshot of the others nonetheless.

Harry had thought it through carefully and come to the conclusion that, if he was to tell anyone, Mr. Weasley was the right person; firstly, because he worked at the Ministry and therefore in the best position to make further investigations, and secondly, because he thought that there was not too much risk of Mr. Weasley exploding with anger. Even though his decision and wayward thoughts caused a sharp pain to shoot his heart.

He could see Mrs. Weasley and the grim-faced Auror casting the pair of them suspicious looks as they moved away.

“When we were in Diagon Alley,” Harry began, but Mr. Weasley forestalled him with a grimace.

“Am I about to discover where you, Ron, and Hermione disappeared to while you were supposed to be in the back room of Fred and George’s shop?”

“How did you—”

“Harry, please. You’re talking to the man who raised Fred and George.”

“Er… yeah, all right, we weren’t in the back room.”

“Very well, then, let’s hear the worst.”

“Well, we followed Draco Malfoy. We used the Invisibility Cloak.”

“Did you have any particular reason for doing so, or was it a mere whim?”

“Because I thought Malfoy was up to something,” said Harry, though it wasn’t entirely the truth, disregarding Mr. Weasley’s look of mingled exasperation and amusement. “He’d given his mother the slip and I wanted to know why.”

He didn’t mention to the Weasley patriarch that he had secretly been hoping to talk to the blond, whom he hadn’t seen since the train ride home at the end of the previous year. He had secretly hoped that what had happened between them the previous year would extend into this one, but he wasn’t sure anymore. But he couldn’t disregard what he overheard, and no matter how much it hurt not trusting his once boyfriend, he had to say something.

“Of course you did,” said Mr. Weasley, sounding resigned. “Well? Did you find out why?”

“He went into Borgin and Burkes,” said Harry, “and started bullying the bloke in there, Borgin, to help him fix something. And he said he wanted Borgin to keep something else for him. He made it sound like it was the same kind of thing that needed fixing. Like they were a pair. And…”

Harry took a deep breath, he really didn’t want to believe this one to be true at all.

“There’s something else. We saw Malfoy jump about a mile when Madam Malkin tried to touch his left arm. I think he’s been branded with the Dark Mark. I think he’s replaced his father as a Death Eater.”

Mr. Weasley looked taken aback. After a moment he said, “Harry, I doubt whether You-Know-Who would allow a sixteen-year-old—”

“Does anyone really know what You-Know-Who would or wouldn’t do?” asked Harry angrily, more so with the betrayal he felt rather than at the man before him. “Mr. Weasley, I’m sorry, but isn’t it worth investigating? If Malfoy wants something fixing, and he needs to threaten Borgin to get it done, it’s probably Dark and dangerous, isn’t it?”

“I doubt it, to be honest, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley slowly. “You see, when Lucius Malfoy was arrested, we raided his house. We took away everything that might have been dangerous.”

“I think you missed something,” said Harry stubbornly, though he didn’t want it to be true.

“Well, maybe,” said Mr. Weasley, but Harry could tell that Mr. Weasley was humoring him.

There was a whistle behind them; nearly everyone had boarded the train and the doors were closing.

“You’d better hurry,” said Mr. Weasley, as Mrs. Weasley cried, “Harry, quickly!”

He hurried forward and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley helped him load his trunk onto the train.

“Now, dear, you’re coming to us for Christmas, it’s all fixed with Dumbledore, so we’ll see you quite soon,” said Mrs. Weasley through the window, as Harry slammed the door shut behind him and the train began to move. “You make sure you look after yourself and—”

The train was gathering speed.

“—be good and—”

She was jogging to keep up now.

“—stay safe!”

Harry waved until the train had turned a corner and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were lost to view, then turned to see where the others had got to. He supposed Ron and Hermione were cloistered in the prefects’ carriage, but Ginny was a little way along the corridor, chatting to some friends. He made his way toward her, dragging his trunk.

People stared shamelessly as he approached. They even pressed their faces against the windows of their compartments to get a look at him. He had expected an upswing in the amount of gaping and gawping he would have to endure this term after all the “Chosen One” rumors in the _Daily Prophet_ , but he did not enjoy the sensation of standing in a very bright spotlight. He tapped Ginny on the shoulder.

“Fancy trying to find a compartment?”

“I can’t, Harry, I said I’d meet Dean,” said Ginny brightly. “See you later.”

“Right,” said Harry.

“Ya know what I really don’t get?” a voice behind him said conversationally, causing Harry to turn to see who was addressing him, only to see five teens he’d never seen before walking down the corridor. The speaker had a long braid swinging down his back and the strangest ensemble Harry had seen in the Wizarding world, almost looking like a Muggle priest, “I don’t get why she poofed us all the way to London, just so we could ride this damned tram back to the school. I mean, this is going to take all day, cause it’s a fucking train, not a jet, or a plane, or even a shuttle, but a fucking train. I bet I could get there faster walking Deathscythe to the castle.”

“Hn,” his companion with shaggy brown hair grunted.

“Come on,” the little blond shook his head. “Let’s go find a compartment.”

“Hi, Harry!” said a familiar voice from behind him as the five walked past him and out of sight.

“Neville!” said Harry in relief, turning to see a round-faced boy struggling toward him.

“Hello, Harry,” said a girl with long hair and large misty eyes, who was just behind Neville.

“Luna, hi, how are you?”

“Very well, thank you,” said Luna. She was clutching a magazine to her chest, large letters on the front announced that there was a pair of free Spectrespecs inside.

“ _Quibbler_ still going strong, then?” asked Harry, who felt a certain fondness for the magazine, having given it an exclusive interview the previous year.

“Oh yes, circulation’s well up,” said Luna happily.

“Let’s find seats,” said Harry, and the three of them set off along the train through hordes of silently staring students. At last they found an empty compartment, and Harry hurried them inside gratefully.

“They’re even staring at us!” said Neville, indicating himself and Luna. “Because we’re with you!”

“They’re staring at you because you were at the Ministry too,” said Harry, as he hoisted his trunk into the luggage rack. “Our little adventure there was all over the _Daily Prophet_ , you must’ve seen it.”

“Yes, I thought Gran would be upset about all the publicity,” said Neville, “but she was really pleased. Says I’m starting to live up to my dad at long last. She bought me a new wand, look!”

He pulled it out and showed it to Harry.

“Cherry and unicorn hair,” he said proudly. “We think it was one of the last Ollivander ever sold, he vanished next day—oi, come back here, Trevor!”

And he dived under the seat to retrieve his toad as it made one of its frequent bids for freedom.

“Are we still doing D.A. meetings this year, Harry?” asked Luna, who was detaching a pair of psychedelic spectacles from the middle of _The Quibbler_.

“No point now we’ve got rid of Umbridge, is there?” said Harry, sitting down. Neville bumped his head against the seat as he emerged from under it. He looked most disappointed.

“I liked the D.A.! I learned loads with you!”

“I enjoyed the meetings too,” said Luna serenely. “It was like having friends.”

This was one of those uncomfortable things Luna often said and which made Harry feel a squirming mixture of pity and embarrassment. Before he could respond, however, there was a disturbance outside their compartment door; a group of fourth-year girls was whispering and giggling together on the other side of the glass.

“You ask him!”

“No, you!”

“I’ll do it!”

And one of them, a bold-looking girl with large dark eyes, a prominent chin, and long black hair pushed her way through the door.

“Hi, Harry, I’m Romilda, Romilda Vane,” she said loudly and confidently. “Why don’t you join us in our compartment? You don’t have to sit with _them_ ,” she added in a stage whisper, indicating Neville’s bottom, which was sticking out from under the seat again as he groped around for Trevor, and Luna, who was now wearing her free Spectrespecs, which gave her the look of a demented, multicolored owl.

“They’re friends of mine,” said Harry coldly.

“Hey, you there,” the braided stranger from earlier appeared behind Romilda and none too gently nudged her aside, “can’t you see you’re not wanted here? Run along and play with your little girlfriends. By the way,” he nodded in Harry and Luna’s direction, “thanks for saving us seats.”

“Oh,” said the girl, looking very surprised. “Oh. Okay.”

And she withdrew. The five boys entered the compartment and slid the door closed behind them.

“People expect you to have cooler friends than us,” said Luna, once again displaying her knack for embarrassing honesty.

“You are cool,” said Harry shortly, as the newcomers took seats around the compartment. “None of them was at the Ministry. They didn’t fight with me.”

“That’s a very nice thing to say,” beamed Luna. Then she pushed her Spectrespecs farther up her nose and settled down to read _The Quibbler_.

“We didn’t face _him_ , though,” said Neville, emerging from under the seat with fluff and dust in his hair and a resigned-looking Trevor in his hand, while the five others looked between the three curiously. “You did. You should hear my gran talk about you. _‘That Harry Potter’s got more backbone than the whole Ministry of Magic put together!’_ She’d give anything to have you as a grandson…”

Harry laughed uncomfortably and changed the subject to O.W.L. results as soon as he could. While Neville recited his grades and wondered aloud whether he would be allowed to take a Transfiguration N.E.W.T. with only an “Acceptable,” while Harry took in the five others that had joined them.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the braided one waved his hands in front of him. “You’re saying they might not let us take certain classes cause of what grades we got?”

“Professor McGonagall explained that to us when we sat the tests, Maxwell,” the black haired teen rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Or were you not paying attention, again?”

“I was paying attention,” Maxwell pouted. “I was just wondering if you had been Fei-Fei.”

“Maxwell!” Fei-Fei growled as his fists clenched in his lap.

“Enough,” the shaggy haired brunet gave them both a glare that silenced them in an instant.

“So, who are you guys anyway?” Neville asked shyly, almost frightened that the glare would be turned on him.

“Name’s Duo Maxwell, I may run and hide, but I never tell a lie,” the braided boy beamed.

“Heero Yuy, it’s a pleasure,” cool blue eyes stared blankly at the round-faced boy.

“Trowa Barton,” said the one with a long fall of hair obscuring half his face.

“Wufei Chang.”

“I’m Quatre Raberba Winner,” the blond smiled kindly at the other three occupants of the car.

“I’m Harry,” he nodded, though he was sure he’d heard the last name somewhere before.

“Luna, but everyone calls me Loony,” she looked up from her magazine and smiled vaguely.

“Neville Longbottom.”

“It’s nice ta meet ya’ll,” Duo beamed. “We’re new, just transferred in a week ago. So what’s this Hogglewarts place like anyway? Granny didn’t tell us much when we arrived. Then again, we were taking tests for the past week.”

“You all right, Harry? You look funny,” said Neville, catching Harry staring at him.

Harry started. “Sorry—I—”

“Wrackspurt got you?” asked Luna sympathetically, peering at Harry through her enormous colored spectacles.

“I—what?”

“A Wrackspurt… They’re invisible. They float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy,” she said. “I thought I felt one zooming around in here.”

She flapped her hands at thin air, as though beating off large invisible moths, causing Wufei to snort as he picked up a large tome and buried himself within its pages. Harry and Neville caught each other’s eyes and hastily began to talk of Quidditch, though Duo looked a bit put out by the lack of explanation from the eccentric girl.

The weather beyond the train windows was as patchy as it had been all summer; they passed through stretches of the chilling mist, then out into weak, clear sunlight. It was during one of the clear spells, when the sun was visible almost directly overhead, that Ron and Hermione entered the compartment at last.

“Wish the lunch trolley would hurry up, I’m starving,” said Ron longingly, slumping into the seat beside Harry and rubbing his stomach, which caused the braided teen to scoff indignantly. “Hi, Neville. Hi, Luna. Guess what?” he added, turning to Harry. “Malfoy’s not doing perfect duty. He’s just sitting in his compartment with the other Slytherins, we saw him when we passed.”

Harry sat up straight, interested. It was not like Malfoy to pass up the chance to demonstrate his power as prefect, which he had happily abused all the previous year. He was also interested for other, more personal reasons, as well.

“What did he do when he saw you?” he tried to not sound too hopeful.

“The usual,” said Ron indifferently, demonstrating a rude hand gesture. “Not like him though, is it? Well— _that_ is—” he did the hand gesture again—“but why isn’t he out there bullying first years?”

“Dunno,” said Harry, but his mind was racing. Didn’t this look as though Malfoy had more important things on his mind than bullying younger students… unless he was turning over a new leaf, the more optimistic part of his brain supplied.

“Maybe he preferred the Inquisitorial Squad,” said Hermione. “Maybe being prefect seems a bit tame after that.”

“I don’t think so,” said Harry, though half of him was weeping with what he was thinking. “I think he’s—”

“Oh, we’re being rude,” Hermione cut him off, looking around at the five boys. “We haven’t introduced ourselves. I’m Hermione Granger, and that’s Ron Weasley.”

The former Gundam pilots introduced themselves again, though it didn’t seem to satisfy the bushy haired girl that much, if the scowl marring her features was any indication.

“Wait a minute,” a look of dawning comprehension crossed her face. “You’re the Gundam pilots, aren’t you?” she looked specifically at Duo. “I know you are. I saw you on the news last year.”

Four of the five tensed, however, Duo leaned forward slightly, a grin plastered across his face, “So what if we are, girly? Gonna turn us in? Get the reward money? You’ll have a hell of a time with it.”

“What?! No!” she gasped, taken aback. “I thought what you did was really admirable. I was ever so pleased when I heard you had escaped from OZ custody. And what you all did to bring peace to the Earth and the Colonies was really brave.”

“Wellll,” he chuckled, leaning back in his seat with his hands behind his head, “if that’s the case, we’ll allow ya to live.”

Heero reached out and smacked him across the head, “Shut up, baka.”

“Owwww! Heero!” the braided teen pouted. “And here I thought you loved me.”

“Hn,” was the answer, causing Duo’s pout to deepen.

“Quat, Hee-chan doesn’t love me anymore!” he turned to the blond, who rolled his eyes but began patting him on the back.

“There, there,” he shook his head. “He’ll come around eventually. Everyone does.”

Before another word could be said, the compartment door slid open again and a breathless third-year girl stepped inside.

“I’m supposed to deliver these to Quatre Winner, Duo Maxwell, Neville Longbottom, and Harry P-Potter,” she faltered, as her eyes met Harry’s and she turned scarlet. She was holding out four scrolls of parchment tied with violet ribbon. Perplexed, the four took the scroll addressed to each of them and the girl stumbled back out of the compartment.

“What is it?” Ron demanded, as Harry unrolled his.

“An invitation,” said Harry.

 

_Harry,_

_I would be delighted if you would join me for a bit of lunch in compartment C._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor H. E. F. Slughorn_

 

“Who’s Professor Slughorn?” asked Neville, looking perplexedly at his own invitation as Duo and Quatre silently left the compartment.

“New teacher,” said Harry. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to go, won’t we?”

“But what does he want me for?” asked Neville nervously, as though he was expecting a detention.

“No idea,” said Harry, which was not entirely true, though he had no proof yet that his hunch was correct. “Listen,” he added, seized by a sudden brain wave, “let’s go under the Invisibility Cloak, then we might get a good look at Malfoy on the way, see what he’s up to.

88

When they reached compartment C, they saw at once that they were not Slughorn’s only invitees, although judging by the enthusiasm of Slughorn’s welcome, Harry was the most warmly anticipated.

“Harry, m’boy!” said Slughorn, jumping up at the sight of him so that his great velvet-covered belly seemed to fill all the remaining space in the compartment. His shiny bald head and great silver mustache gleamed as brightly in the sunlight as the golden buttons on his waistcoat. “Good to see you, good to see you! And you must be Mr. Longbottom!”

Neville nodded, looking scared. At a gesture from Slughorn, they sat down opposite each other in the only two empty seats, which were nearest the door. Harry glanced around at their fellow guests. Aside from the two new students, he recognized a Slytherin from their year, a tall black boy with high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes; there were also two seventh-year boys Harry did not know and, squashed into the corner beside Slughorn and looking as though she was not entirely sure how she had got there, Ginny.

“Now, do you know everyone?” Slughorn asked Harry and Neville. “Duo Maxwell, Quatre Winner, and Blaise Zabini are in your year, of course—though the first two are new to Hogwarts this year.

Zabini did not make any sign of recognition or greeting, nor did Harry or Neville: Gryffindor and Slytherin students loathed each other on principle. Though Duo waved merrily, while Quatre nodded politely.

“This is Cormac McLaggen, perhaps you’ve come across each other? No?”

McLaggen, a large, wiry-haired youth, raised a hand, and Harry and Neville nodded back at him.

“—and this is Marcus Belby, I don’t know whether—?”

Belby, who was thin and nervous-looking, gave a strained smile.

“—and _this_ charming young lady tells me she knows you!” Slughorn finished.

Ginny grimaced at Harry and Neville from behind Slughorn’s back, causing Duo, who was right next to Harry, to snort into his hand.

“Well now, this is most pleasant,” said Slughorn cozily. “A chance to get to know you all a little better. Here, take a napkin. I’ve packed my own lunch; the trolley, as I remember it, is heavy on licorice wands, and a poor old man’s digestive system isn’t quite up to such things…. Pheasant, Belby?”

He talked to Belby for a moment, before turning his attention to Quatre. “Now, Quatre, I had the pleasure of teaching your mother back when she was in school.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the blond Arabian said politely, “but I never knew my mother, she died shortly after I was born.”

“I heard about that,” Slughorn shook his head sympathetically. “More’s the pity. She had such promise, too. Then again, coming from a prominent family like the Blacks it was to be expected. Now your father, from what I understand, was also a very influential Muggle.”

“My father owns many of the natural resource satellites throughout space, yes,” Quatre nodded. “However, my father also recently passed away, and it is still a rather sensitive subject with me, as I was there when it occurred.”

“Yes, yes, of course, forgive an old man his memories,” Slughorn apologized before turning his attention to Duo. “Now, from what I understand, your family history is closely tied in with Hogwarts, young Duo.”

“If you’re talking about Granny, then yeah,” the braided teen shrugged. “Or at least that’s what she says.”

“Ah yes, Minerva McGonagall was always a bright witch, I remember when she was in my class, all those years ago,” Slughorn smiled fondly. “Quite the temper she had back then. A temper your mother also had, if I recall correctly. I had the honor of teaching her as well. A very talented witch. It was such a pity that she went off to the Colonies with that lazy rogue, Maxwell.” This statement caused Duo to clutch his napkin tightly in his fist as his face went blank. “They both had such promise, though Maxwell never displayed it like young Helen did. Then of course, there was that terrible accident at the Church they were working at.”

“It wasn’t an accident, you mother fucking asshole,” Duo’s eyes shot amethyst fire as he leapt to his feet, his fists trembling in rage. “They were murdered by the fucking Alliance. And I’d like it if you’d keep your fat mouth shut about them. You know nothing about them, or what they did. Father Maxwell and Sister Helen were the kindest people I’ve ever met, and they don’t need some bastard like you belittling their sacrifice.”

With that he threw his crumpled napkin on the table and stormed out of the compartment.

“Duo!” Quatre called, chasing after the braided teen.

The blond raced down the, surprisingly empty, corridor, looking for his friend and comrade, letting his Space Heart guide him. He didn’t know much about Duo’s past, but that was only because Duo never talked about it much. But now that he thought about it, he should’ve been able to put two and two together. He should’ve realized that Duo had known about the Maxwell Church Massacre, but he had obviously been too busy to notice, something he was kicking himself for at the moment.

He stopped outside a closed door, his Space Heart telling him the braided teen was just beyond the portal. He leaned closer and gently knocked, hoping Duo would let him in.

“Duo, it’s me, Quatre,” he pleaded when there was no answer to his knock. “Please let me in.”

There was a faint click and he knew his friend had unlocked the door. He cautiously pushed it open, just enough for him to slip inside, before closing and locking it again. What he saw, and the emotions pouring off the braided teen, had him clutching his heart as tears stung the back of his eyes.

Duo was sitting on the floor next to the door, his face buried in his knees, which were drawn tightly up to his chest with his arms wrapped securely around them. The blond fell to his knees beside him and cautiously reached out his hand to place it on the self-proclaimed God of Death’s shoulder, but hesitated just shy of actually touching him, not sure if he’d actually be welcome to.

“Duo?” he said, throwing caution to the wind and pulled the other teen into his arms and began rubbing his back. “Do you need me to get you anything?”

The former Deathscythe pilot shook his head and turned his face into his chest and continued crying silently, drawing on his boyfriend’s strength to help him gain control. Not a word was said between them, but none was needed. Quatre may not know everything, but he didn’t need to, he was there for Duo and that was all that mattered.

888888

The corridors were almost completely empty now. Nearly everyone had returned to their carriages to change into their school robes and pack up their possessions. Though he was close as he could get to Zabini without touching him, Harry was not quick enough to slip into the compartment when Zabini opened the door. Zabini was already sliding it shut when Harry hastily stuck out his foot to prevent it closing.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” said Zabini angrily as he smashed the sliding door repeatedly into Harry’s foot.

Harry seized the door and pushed it open, hard; Zabini, still clinging to the handle, toppled over sideways into Gregory Goyle’s lap, and in the ensuing ruckus, Harry darted into the compartment, leapt onto Zabini’s temporarily empty seat, and hoisted himself up into the luggage rack. It was fortunate that Goyle and Zabini were snarling at each other, drawing all eyes onto them, for Harry was quite sure his feet and ankles had been revealed as the cloak had flapped around them; indeed, for one horrible moment he thought he saw Malfoy’s eyes follow his trainer as it whipped upward out of sight. But then Goyle slammed the door shut and flung Zabini off him; Zabini collapsed into his own seat looking ruffled, Vincent Crabbe returned to his comic, and Malfoy, sniggering, lay back down across two seats with his head in Pansy Parkinson’s lap. Harry lay curled uncomfortably under the cloak to ensure that every inch of him remained hidden, and watched Pansy stroke the sleek blond hair off Malfoy’s forehead, smirking as she did so, as though anyone would have loved to have been in her place. Harry actually had to look away from that sight. As loathe as he was to admit it, he was rather jealous of the girl currently running her slimy hands through his ex-boyfriend’s hair. The lanterns swinging from the carriage ceiling cast a bright light over the scene: Harry could read every word of Crabbe’s comic directly below him, which he focused on rather intently.

“So, Zabini,” said Malfoy, “what did Slughorn want?”

“Just trying to make up to well-connected people,” said Zabini, who was still glowering at Goyle. “Not that he managed to find many.”

This information did not seem to please Malfoy.

“Who else had he invited?” he demanded.

“McLaggen from Gryffindor,” said Zabini.

“Oh yeah, his uncle’s big in the Ministry,” said Malfoy.

“—someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw—”

“Not him, he’s a prat!” said Pansy.

“—two new students, Winner and Maxwell. Apparently, Winner’s a distant Black relative, and Maxwell’s related to McGonagall—”

“A Black relative?” Malfoy scoffed. “Unlikely.”

“—and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl,” finished Zabini.

Malfoy sat up very suddenly, knocking Pansy’s hand aside.

“He invited _Longbottom_?”

“Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there,” said Zabini indifferently.

“What’s Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?”

Zabini shrugged.

“Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at _‘the Chosen one,’_ ” sneered Malfoy, “but that Weasley girl! What’s so special about _her_?”

“A lot of boys like her,” said Pansy, watching Malfoy out of the corner of her eyes for his reaction. “Even you think she’s good-looking, don’t you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!”

“I wouldn’t touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like,” said Zabini coldly, and Pansy looked pleased. Malfoy sank back across her lap and allowed her to resume the stroking of his hair, causing Harry’s lip to curl slightly.

“Well, I pity Slughorn’s taste. Maybe he’s going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn’t heard I’m on the train, or—”

“I wouldn’t bank on an invitation,” said Zabini. “He asked me about Nott’s father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he’d been caught at the Ministry he didn’t look happy, and Nott didn’t get an invitation, did he? I don’t think Slughorn’s interested in Death Eaters.”

Malfoy looked angry, but forced out a singularly humorless laugh.

“Well, who cares what he’s interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher,” Malfoy yawned ostentatiously. “I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what’s it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?”

“What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?” said Pansy indignantly, ceasing grooming Malfoy at once.

“Well, you never know,” said Malfoy with the ghost of a smirk. “I might have—er—moved on to bigger and better things.”

Crouched in the luggage rack under his cloak, Harry’s heart began to race. What would Ron and Hermione say about this? Crabbe and Goyle were gawping at Malfoy; apparently they had no inkling of any plans to move on to bigger and better things. Even Zabini had allowed a look of curiosity to mar his haughty features. Pansy resumed the slow stroking of Malfoy’s hair, looking dumbfounded.

“Do you mean— _Him_?”

Malfoy shrugged.

“Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don’t see it as that important these days. I mean, I think about it…. When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone’s got? Of course he isn’t…. It’ll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown.”

“And you think _you’ll_ be able to do something for him?” asked Zabini scathingly. “Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?”

“I’ve just said, haven’t I? Maybe he doesn’t care if I’m qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn’t something that you need to be qualified for,” said Malfoy quietly.

Crabbe and Goyle were both sitting with their mouths open like gargoyles. Pansy was gazing down at Malfoy as though she had never seen anything so awe-inspiring.

“I can see Hogwarts,” said Malfoy, clearly relishing the effect he had created as he pointed out of the blackened window. “We’d better get our robes on.”

Harry was so busy staring at Malfoy, now totally convinced of his heart-wrenching theories, he did not notice Goyle reaching up for his trunk, as he swung it down, it hit Harry hard on the side of the head. He let out an involuntary gasp of pain, and Malfoy looked up at the luggage rack, frowning.

Harry was not afraid of Malfoy, quite the contrary actually, but he still did not much like the idea of being discovered hiding under his Invisibility Cloak by a group of unfriendly Slytherins. Eyes still watering and head still throbbing, he drew his wand, careful not to disarrange the cloak, and waited, breath held. To his relief, Malfoy seemed to decide that he had imagined the noise; he pulled on his robes like the others, locked his trunk, and as the train slowly to a jerky crawl, fastened a thick new traveling cloak round his neck.

Harry could see the corridors filling up again and hoped that Hermione and Ron would take his things out onto the platform for him, he was stuck where he was until the compartment had quite emptied. At last, with a final lurch, the train came to a complete halt. Goyle threw the door open and muscled his way out into a crowd of second years, punching them aside; Crabbe and Zabini followed.

“You go on,” Malfoy told Pansy, who was waiting for him with her hand held out as though hoping he would hold it. “I just want to check something.”

Pansy left. Now Harry and Malfoy were alone in the compartment. People were filing past, descending onto the dark platform. Malfoy moved over to the compartment door and let down the blinds, so that people in the corridor beyond could not peer in. He then bend down over his trunk and opened it again.

Harry peered down over the edge of the luggage rack, his heart pumping a little faster. What had Malfoy wanted to hide from Pansy? Was he about to see the mysterious broken object it was so important to mend?

_“Petrificus Totalus!”_

Without warning, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry, who was instantly paralyzed. As though in slow motion, he toppled out of the luggage rack and fell, with an agonizing, floor-shaking crash, at Malfoy’s feet, the Invisibility Cloak trapped beneath him, his whole body revealed with his legs still curled absurdly into the cramped kneeling position. He couldn’t move a muscle; he could only gaze up at Malfoy, who smiled broadly.

“I thought so,” he said jubilantly. “I heard Goyle’s trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back….”

His eyes lingered for a moment on Harry’s trainers, before darting back up to meet Harry’s gaze. He moved forward and quickly relieved the brunet of his wand before removing the curse.

“What’s the matter, Harry?” Draco drawled, twirling the holly wand between his fingers idly as the Gryffindor slowly uncurled himself and stared incredulously up at him. “Couldn’t wait until the feast to see me again?”

“Oh yeah,” emerald eyes narrowed into a glare, “cause I really wanted to see you again.”

“Is that the way you want this to go?” the blond took a step forward, forcing Harry back. “Why did I have to get stuck with such an idiot for a boyfriend?”

“I’m not an idiot!” Harry snapped, still moving back as the Slytherin advanced. “And obviously we aren’t boyfriends either, not if what I saw between you and Parkinson was anything to go by.”

“God, not this again,” Draco ran his hand through his hair in frustration, shuddering slightly at the memory of what he had had to endure for most of the train ride. “Do we really have to go over this again? I thought I made it quite clear at the end of the last year that I’m not going anywhere.”

“But I just saw…” the raven haired teen frowned.

“A show I’m putting on for the others,” the Slytherin shook his head. “Harry, things are going on this year that neither you nor I can stop, and the less you know about it, the better. Just please trust me.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Harry looked down at the floor of the compartment. “It’s just too confusing.”

“Don’t worry about Pansy and the others,” the blond moved forward again and placed his hand on Harry’s cheek. “They mean nothing to me. They are just a means to an end. Please, believe me.”

Green eyes rose slowly and locked with gray. For several minutes they just stood there, weighing each other with their eyes and waiting for the other’s assessment. Finally, it was Harry who looked away first.

“I’ll try, Draco,” he sighed.

“Good,” the blond leaned down and placed a rather chaste kiss on Harry’s lips. “Now, please, forgive me?”

Before Harry could process what he was going to do, Draco had placed the body bind curse back on him.

“You didn’t hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I’ve got you here…” he said rather loudly in Harry’s opinion.

And he shoved a purple piece of candy down Harry’s throat, gently forcing it down, blood began spurting everywhere from Harry’s nose.

“That’s from my father. Now, let’s see….”

Malfoy dragged the cloak out from under Harry’s immobilized body and threw it over him.

“I don’t reckon they’ll find you till the train’s back in London,” he said quietly. “See you around, Potter… or not.”

And taking care to tread on Harry’s fingers, Malfoy left the compartment.


	4. The First Night at Hogwarts

Chapter 4: The First Night at Hogwarts

 

Quatre and Duo joined the others in their compartment again as the train began slowing down. They quickly donned their school robes, albeit with much complaining on the braided teen’s part, and began gathering their things to exit the train. They joined the throng of students and made their way out to the thestral drawn carriages.

“Sweet!” the former Deathscythe pilot bounded over to the skeletal horses and began petting the nearest one, which nuzzled his hand affectionately. “These things never get old.”

On the way to the castle, Duo kept up a running commentary, as was his nature, that served to both distract and soothe the other pilots. It was nice to have some sense of normalcy in this hectic, magic filled world they now found themselves in.

It didn’t take them long to reach the castle and exit the carriages. As they made their way up the stairs to the main doors Professor McGonagall caught their attention and motioned them over to her.

“So, gentlemen,” she gave them all an assessing look before nodding in approval at their compliance with the school dress code, “how did you like your first trip aboard the Hogwarts Express?”

“Pretty boring,” Duo shrugged. “Except for the fact that I’m gonna kill Professor Slughorn if he doesn’t keep his fat trap shut.”

“Devan,” her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I don’t care whether you like all your professors or not, you will show them the proper respect, am I understood?”

“Yeah, yeah,” amethyst eyes rolled in annoyance, “don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Anyway,” McGonagall’s lips pursed in anger but she decided to let it slide this once, “if you five will follow me, I will show you where you shall be waiting until it is time for the Sorting Ceremony.”

The five pilots fell in line behind her as she led them to a room just off the entrance hall. They were joined a few minutes later by the new batch of first years. From that point it didn’t take too much longer before they were led into the Great Hall by Professor McGonagall and told to line up in front of the staff table, the former pilots after the first years.

The Sorting Hat sang its song, which the pilots barely listened to, having been briefed on this occurrence prior to boarding the train, as they took in the assembled students before them. They then waited patiently for the first years to be sorted into the four different houses, well all but Duo who began fidgeting halfway through the list of squirts. Finally, it was their turn to be sorted.

Before they were called forward, however, Dumbledore pushed to his feet and motioned needlessly for silence, “As I’m sure you have already noticed, this year we are joined by some very special new students joining us all the way from the Space Colonies. Please make them feel welcome into whichever house they are sorted into. You may continue, Professor McGonagall.”

With a nod, she picked up a second scroll and opened it, “Chang, Wufei.”

The Chinese teen stepped forward and sat calmly on the stool as the hat was placed on his head.

 _“You don’t quite belong here, do you?”_ the Sorting Hat said quietly into his ear. _“But you are not the first shinobi I’ve sorted. Are you here on a mission, or do I get to place you in the true house you belong in?”_

 _‘I have no mission,’_ the former Shenlong pilot scowled in confusion. _‘Place me where you will.’_

 _“Very well,”_ the Hat chortled. _“Let’s look and see. A brilliant mind and a love of learning, Ravenclaw would suit you find, but there is more: honor, bravery, daring, and what’s this? Chivalry? No doubt about it…_ GRYFFINDOR!”

Wufei took the hat off his head, made his way over to the far left table, and sat down. McGonagall gave an approving nod before turning back to the scroll in her hands.

“Maxwell, Devan.”

The braided teen sashayed his way over to the stool and flopped down, sending a beaming grin to the students seated at the four house tables. McGonagall shook her head as she put the hat on his head.

 _“Hmm… what have we here?”_ the Hat sounded surprised. _“And here I thought I had placed the heir long ago, but no, you are the new heir. Yet, you don’t quite fit in the house of your ancestor. Don’t get me wrong, they would love you and treat you as royalty. In fact, you could turn that house around.”_

“Are you going to continue rambling all night?” Duo asked loud enough for the silent room to hear as he cocked his head to the side curiously. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not be treated like royalty, met some before, bigger pains in the ass I’ve never met.”

 _“Well then,”_ the Hat sniffed indignantly, _“Salazar Slytherin forgive me…_ GRYFFINDOR!”

With a shrug, Duo removed the hat and dropped it unceremoniously back on the stool before joining his friend at the Gryffindor table. McGonagall gave a rare smile at the braided teen’s back, causing most of the rest of the older student body to do a double take and stare incredulously at their Transfiguration professor. She cleared her throat as she turned back to the scroll.

“Potter, James,” she said, and then blinked at the parchment in confusion.

There was a slight stir in the crowd of students but nowhere near as bad as what was happening at the table behind the pilots. The majority of the teachers were staring, open mouthed at the unibanged teen as he made his way over to the stool. However, two people in particular had very different reactions. Severus Snape was watching through narrowed black eyes as he took in every aspect of the former Heavyarms pilot, whereas Albus Dumbledore had a look of utter surprise and delight on his face.

Trowa sat down on the stool and calmly waited for McGonagall to place the hat on his head, seemingly unaware of the stir he had just caused within the walls of his new school.

 _“What is this? Could it actually be another Potter?”_ the Hat said contemplatively. _“But where shall I put you? You’d do well in Slytherin, but maybe not. There is cunning here, yes, and resourcefulness, but that’s not all. You don’t use these attributes for your own gain, perhaps, then better be…_ GRYFFINDOR!”

With a nod, the former clown removed the hat and placed it back on the stool before joining the other two pilots at the Gryffindor table. McGonagall shook herself out of her slight stupor and returned to the list once again.

“Winner, Quatre.”

When his name was called a scattering of muttering broke out throughout the hall, specifically among the students with Muggle parents.

“Did she just say Winner?”

“Is that _the_ Winner? As in Winner Enterprises?”

A sheepish smile crossed his face as the blond took a seat on the stool. The hat fell over his eyes, gratefully blocking the staring eyes.

 _“Well, isn’t this interesting,”_ the Hat contemplated. _“You are kind, and gentle, and have a rare gift, however, there is more here than meets the eye. You would possibly do well in any of the four Hogwarts houses. However, I feel the choice is clear to me._ SLYTHERIN!”

He removed the hat and made his way to the table on the far right.

“Yuy, Heero,” McGonagall read the last name off the parchment and rolled it back up as she turned to place the hat on the final pilot’s head.

Heero patiently waited for his name to be called and then took his place on the stool. The hat had barely touched his head when it screamed: “GRYFFINDOR!”

He joined the others and shortly thereafter the feast began.

888888

They reached the castle steps at last and as the great oaken front doors swung open into the vast flagged entrance hall, a burst of talk and laughter and of tinkling plates and glasses greeted them through the doors standing open into the Great Hall. Harry wondered whether he could slip his Invisibility Cloak back on, thereby gaining his seat at the long Gryffindor table (which, inconveniently, was the farthest from the entrance hall) without being noticed. As though he had read Harry’s mind, however, Snape said, “No cloak. You can walk in so that everyone sees you, which is what you wanted, I’m sure.”

Harry turned on the spot and marched straight through the open doors: anything to get away from Snape. The Great Hall, with its four long House tables and its staff table set at the top of the room, was decorated as usual with floating candles that made the plates below glitter and glow. It was all a shimmering blur to Harry, however, who walked so fast that he was passing the Hufflepuff table before people really started to stare, and by the time they were standing up to get a good look at him, he had spotted Ron and Hermione, sped along the benches toward them, and forced his way between them.

“Where’ve you—blimey, what’ve you done to your face?” said Ron, goggling at him along with everyone else in the vicinity.

“Why, what’s wrong with it?” said Harry, grabbing a spoon and squinting at his distorted reflection.

“You’re covered in blood!” said Hermione. “Come here—”

She raised her wand, said _“Tergeo!”_ and siphoned off the dried blood.

“Thanks,” said Harry, feeling his now clean face. “How’s my nose looking?”

“Normal,” said Hermione anxiously. “Why shouldn’t it? Harry, what happened? We’ve been terrified!”

“I’ll tell you later,” said Harry curtly. He was very conscious that Ginny, Neville, Dean, and Seamus were listening in; even Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had come floating along the bench to eavesdrop.

“But—” said Hermione.

“Not now, Hermione,” said Harry, in a darkly significant voice. He hoped very much that they would all assume he had been involved in something heroic, preferably involving a couple of Death Eaters and a dementor. Of course, Malfoy would spread whatever story he’d come up with as far and wind as he could, but there was always a chance it wouldn’t reach too many Gryffindor ears.

He reached across Ron for a couple of chicken legs and a handful of chips, but before he could take them they vanished, to be replaced with puddings.

“You missed the Sorting, anyway,” said Hermione, as Ron dived for a large chocolate gateau.

“Hat say anything interesting?” asked Harry, taking a piece of treacle tart.

“More of the same, really… advising us all to unite in the face of our enemies, you know.”

“Dumbledore mentioned Voldemort at all?”

“Not yet, but he always saves his proper speech for after the feast, doesn’t he? It can’t be long now.”

“Snape said Hagrid was late for the feast—”

“You’ve seen Snape? How come?” said Ron between frenzied mouthfuls of gateau.

“Bumped into him,” said Harry evasively.

“Hagrid was only a few minutes late,” said Hermione. “Look, he’s waving at you, Harry.”

Harry looked up at the staff table and grinned at Hagrid, who was indeed waving at him. Hagrid had never quite managed to comport himself with the dignity of Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, the top of whose head came up to somewhere between Hagrid’s elbow and shoulder as they were sitting side by side, and who was looking disapprovingly at this enthusiastic greeting. Harry was surprised to see the Divination teacher, Professor Trelawney, sitting on Hagrid’s other side; she rarely left her tower room, and he had never seen her at the start-of-term feast before. She looked as odd as ever, glittering with beads and trailing shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size by her spectacles. Having always considered her a bit of a fraud, Harry had been shocked to discover at the end of the previous term that it had been she who had made the prediction that caused Lord Voldemort to kill Harry’s parents and attack Harry himself. The knowledge had made him even less eager to find himself in her company, but thankfully, this year he would be dropping Divination. Her great beaconlike eyes swiveled in his direction; he hastily looked away toward the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy was miming the shattering of a nose to raucous laughter and applause. Harry dropped his gaze to his treacle tart, his insides burning again. What he would not give to see Malfoy one-on-one…

“Harry!” Hermione nudged him, obviously she’d been trying to gain his attention for some time.

“What?” he looked at her curiously.

“There’s something else,” she bit her lip nervously. “The new students, you know, the ones we met on the train, they were sorted too.”

“Well, yeah, of course they were,” green eyes rolled in fond annoyance. “Where did they end up?”

“Gryffindor, mostly, except the blond, Winner, he went to Slytherin,” Ron said gravely, pausing his eating long enough to show how serious he was. “Mate, one of them’s going by the name James Potter.”

“What?!” Harry almost shouted but barely manage to keep his voice quiet. “But they told us their names on the train and none of them were named James Potter.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Hermione cast a glance in the direction of the former pilots. “But it’s the one with the long bang. He was the one going by James.”

“He said his name was Trowa… Trowa something,” green eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why would he lie?”

“I don’t know, mate,” Ron shrugged, once again stuffing his face. “Maybe you should ask him. He is in our house after all.”

“Maybe,” the raven haired one frowned. “Did the others have different names?”

“Only the one with the braid,” Hermione answered. “His name is Devan Maxwell, but Duo could just be a nickname.”

“That one at least makes sense,” Harry shook his head. “Well, we’ll figure it out later.”

“Anyway, what did Professor Slughorn want?” Hermione asked.

888888

Harry and Ron made their way miserably up the stairs to Gryffindor tower. They felt bad for letting Hagrid down, but his class didn’t fit in with what they wanted to do with their lives. They bypassed the usual crowd in the common room and headed straight for their dormitory, hoping to feel better come morning. However, once they entered their room, their minds were completely wiped clear of all thoughts of their half-giant friend.

The five new students were spread throughout the room silently unpacking while their older counterparts were sitting around watching and firing off questions at random.

“So,” Dean Thomas, the only Muggleborn in the room, looked at the others, “do you know the new Slytherin? Is he really a Winner? As in the family that owns almost all of the natural resource satellites throughout outer space?”

“Uh, yeah,” the braided teen gave him the once over, sizing him up. “And he also happens to be my boyfriend, so back off.”

“What? No, it’s nothing like that,” the dark skinned boy held up his hands. “I was just wondering. He’s practically royalty.”

“Naw, Quat’s just like anybody else,” Duo chuckled. “He puts his underwear on after his pants, just like the rest of us.”

Eight incredulous stares were turned on the former Deathscythe pilot at this comment. He frowned for a moment, as if contemplating what he’d just said, before a look of comprehension finally crossed his features.

“Oh, wait, it’s the other way around,” he nodded sagely. “By the way, name’s Duo, Duo Maxwell, I may run and hide but I never tell a lie. That’s me in a nutshell.”

“But McGonagall said your name was Devan Maxwell, so that’s a lie right there,” Seamus Finnigan felt the need to point out.

“Eh, what would she know,” Duo waved him off. “She’s only supposed to be my grandmother or something like that.”

“Come again?” Ron gaped, open mouthed, at the braided teen, along with Dean and Seamus.

“Apparently she’s supposed to be my unknown mother’s mother,” he shrugged. “So yeah, my grandma.”

The redhead shook his head and in the process his eyes fell on the unibanged teen, who was silently preparing for bed.

“You!” he pointed at the former Heavyarms pilot, who turned slightly to regard him with his one visible eye.

“Did you need something?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, why did you tell us on the train your name was Trowa and then during the Sorting it was James Potter?” Ron’s eyes narrowed dangerously, as the other three regular students turned to regard him curiously.

“Because James Potter is the name on my birth certificate,” the former clown shrugged. “However, I’ve been using the name Trowa Barton for over a year now.”

“Who are your parents?” Harry asked, a frown marring his features.

Trowa turned to look at Heero, who was the one who had actually looked up the information.

“James Potter, deceased,” the former Wing pilot recited stoically, “Lily Potter, nee Evans, also deceased.”

“How can you talk about them like that?” the raven haired wizard glared at the two former pilots, his fists clenched at his sides at their casual disregard of his parents’ lives.

“I never knew them,” Trowa shrugged. “And it doesn’t do to long for someone you’ll never have or remember.”

“You may not care about them,” Harry said through clenched teeth, “but I do. You would too if all you did remember about them was their screaming pleas to save your life. Never talk about my parents again, you bastard.”

With that he grabbed his pajamas and stormed from the room. The four former Gundam pilots stared incredulously after him. What had him so riled up?

“Heero?” the unibanged teen turned a questioning gaze on their fearless leader.

“He must be your brother,” the ‘Perfect Soldier’ shrugged, still in his monotone. “Harry James Potter, age 16. Current residence: 4 Privet Drive, Surrey, England. Guardians: Vernon and Petunia Dursley, nee Evans.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Ron snapped, glaring between Trowa and Heero. “You know nothing about him or what he’s gone through. He’s not just a name on some fucking paper. He’s a person with feelings and you just dropped the biggest fucking dungbomb on him. I don’t blame him for storming out of here. In fact, the lot of you had better stay away from him, or you’ll have me to deal with.”

And with that he followed his best friend from the room.

“Weelll, wasn’t that awkward,” Duo clapped his hands together, breaking the silence that had descended on the room. “Anyway, time for bed. Just wish Quat was here.”

He climbed into the bed between the ones Heero and Trowa had chosen and flicked the curtains closed. Silence descended as the other members of the Gryffindor sixth year boys’ dormitory drifted off to sleep. Shortly after midnight, Harry and Ron drifted back in and found their own way to the land of Morpheus.

Five minutes later, the door opened once more and a dark shape slunk into the room. A moment later a light pressure landed on the end of the Japanese teen’s bed, making him shoot up, gun aimed at the intruder. He lowered it a moment later as he recognized the form of his new pet, whom he had almost completely forgotten about in the excitement of the evening.

“Hey,” he said quietly, conscious of his sleeping roommates, and held out his hand for the temperamental feline. “I haven’t see you since the train. You should be more careful, I could’ve shot you.”

The cat cocked its head to the side before meowing quietly. The former Wing pilot shook his head, he wished he could understand what his cat was saying.

“I need to name you,” he sat up slowly and carefully lifted the little animal into his arms. “I could call you Wing.”

The cat scrunched up its face in obvious disapproval.

“No?” the brunet frowned. “I’ve never named anything before. Zero?”

A low growl emanated from the rather annoyed feline, along with a swipe from the newly extended claws.

“Fine then,” Heero stared at him, rubbing at his now sore hand. “You tell me what name you want to go by.”

He quickly and quietly located a scrap of parchment and a pen and began writing down the letters of the alphabet. When he was done he presented it to the silently twitching cat, and grabbed another so he could write down the name. The feline sauntered over to the parchment and placed his paw on the letter S. Heero dutifully copied down the selected letters until the cat finally stopped. He glanced at the twelve letters in slight confusion, not making any sense out of them. Onyx eyes rolled in slight annoyance before he went over and batted at the piece of paper in his new ‘owner’s’ hand. He tapped on the first letter once and then the seventh letter twice.

“Hn,” the former Wing pilot nodded. “Two names.”

He quickly wrote them down again, this time separately.

“Alright then, Sasuke Uchiha it is.”

Sasuke nodded smugly before curling up in the middle of Heero’s pillow and falling almost instantly asleep, one final thought going through his head: Maybe this new teen wasn’t as much of a loser as he first thought.


	5. New Classes, New Students

Chapter 5: New Classes, New Students

 

Harry and Ron met Hermione in the common room before breakfast next morning. They lost no time in telling her about what happened within the dormitory the previous evening.

“But obviously he’s lying,” interjected Ron quickly, before Hermione could say anything.

“Well,” she said uncertainly, “I don’t know…. It seems like a big lie to tell…. And they have the details about Harry and his parents. It is possible for them to have been placed in the Registration Act.”

“Huh?” a look of utter confusion crossed Ron’s face.

“It’s possible,” said Harry, but he could not press the point, because so many people were trying to listen in to his conversation, not to mention staring at him and whispering behind their hands.

“It’s rude to point,” Ron snapped at a particularly minuscule first-year boy as they joined the queue to climb out of the portrait hole. The boy, who had been muttering something about Harry behind his hand to his friend, promptly turned scarlet and toppled out of the hole in alarm. Ron sniggered.

“I love being a sixth year. _And_ we’re going to be getting free time this year. Whole periods when we can just sit up here and relax.”

“We’re going to need that time for studying, Ron!” said Hermione, as they set off down the corridor.

“Yeah, but not today,” said Ron. “Today’s gonna be a real doss, I reckon.”

“Hold it!” said Hermione, throwing out an arm and halting a passing fourth year, who was attempting to push past her with a lime-green disk clutched tightly in his hand. “Fanged Frisbees are banned, hand it over,” she told him sternly. The scowling boy handed over the snarling Frisbee, ducked under her arm, and took off after his friends. Ron waited for him to vanish, then tugged the Frisbee from Hermione’s grip.

“Excellent, I’ve always wanted one of these.”

Hermione’s remonstration was drowned by a loud giggle; Lavender Brown had apparently found Ron’s remark highly amusing. She continued to laugh as she passed them, glancing back at Ron over her shoulder. Ron looked rather pleased with himself.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. While they tucked into porridge and eggs and bacon, Harry and Ron told Hermione about their embarrassing conversation with Hagrid the previous evening.

“But he can’t really think we’d continue Care of Magical Creatures!” she said, looking distressed. “I mean, when has any of us expressed… you know… any enthusiasm?”

“That’s it, though, innit?” said Ron, swallowing an entire fried egg whole. “We were the ones who made the most effort in classes because we like Hagrid. But he thinks we like the stupid _subject_. D’you reckon anyone’s going to go on to N.E.W.T.?”

Neither Harry nor Hermione answered; there was no need. They knew perfectly well that nobody in their year would want to continue Care of Magical Creatures. They avoided Hagrid’s eye and returned his cheery wave only halfheartedly when he left the staff table ten minutes later.

“Anyway, Hermione,” Harry shook his head, turning his attention to the bushy haired girl, “you were saying something about the Registration Act earlier?”

“That’s right,” she nodded, putting her fork down. “It is possible that this boy is your brother, but was presumed dead when your parents were killed, but with the Registration Act going into effect, he could’ve turned up in the system.”

“What is this thing you’re talking about?” Ron asked, a piece of toast halfway to his mouth.

“The Registration Act,” Hermione sighed. “It was put into place early this past year within the Muggle world, right after their war with the space colonies. Every member of the Earth Sphere Unified Nations is required to register into the new database.”

“Okay…” the redhead nodded, “say the Muggles are creating this data thingy, Harry doesn’t have a brother. It would’ve been known. His family is famous.”

“Just because they’re famous doesn’t mean someone couldn’t have been overlooked,” brown eyes rolled in annoyance.

“Let’s change the subject,” Harry interrupted, not really wanting to go into this at the breakfast table.

After they had eaten, they remained in their places, awaiting Professor McGonagall’s descent from the staff table. The distribution of class schedules was more complicated than usual this year, for Professor McGonagall needed to first confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s.

Wufei was the first of the pilots to be called forward.

“Well, Mr. Chang,” McGonagall consulted her list, “it appears that you may take any class you wish.”

He handed the Transfiguration professor a list, “These are the classes I wish to take.”

“Charms, yes; Herbology, yes; Defense Against the Dark Arts, fine; History of Magic, well that is surprising, but yes,” she glanced between the scrap of paper the Chinese teen had given her and her list, “Transfiguration, of course; Arithmancy, yes; Ancient Runes, yes; and Potions, yes. Are you sure you wouldn’t be interested in Astronomy or Muggle Studies? You received an Outstanding in both classes.”

“I feel that they would be rather redundant, actually,” a dark brow quirked upward, “considering I was raised in space and can quote star charts and co ordinance in my sleep, and I have also spent the past fifteen years within the Muggle world.”

“Right, sorry,” she shook her head, a wry smile crossing her stern face. “Well, there you are, Ancient Runes begins in twenty minutes, you should be going.”

With a nod, he accepted his schedule, gathered up his bag, and headed off in the direction of the Ancient Runes classroom. Hermione was next and was immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions, and shot off to a first-period Ancient Runes class without further ado. Neville took a little longer to sort out; his round face was anxious as Professor McGonagall looked down his application and then consulted his O.W.L. results.

“Herbology, fine,” she said. “Professor Sprout will be delighted to see you back with an ‘Outstanding’ O.W.L. And you qualify for Defense Against the Dark Arts with ‘Exceeds Expectation.’ But the problem is Transfiguration. I’m sorry, Longbottom, but an ‘Acceptable’ really isn’t good enough to continue to N.E.W.T. level. I just don’t think you’d be able to cope with the coursework.”

Neville hung his head. Professor McGonagall peered at him through her square spectacles.

“Why do you want to continue with Transfiguration, anyway? I’ve never had the impression that you particularly enjoyed it.”

Neville looked miserable and muttered something about “my grandmother wants.”

“Hmph,” snorted Professor McGonagall. “It’s high time your grandmother learned to be proud of the grandson she’s got, rather than the one she thinks she ought to have—particularly after what happened at the Ministry.”

Neville turned very pink and blinked confusedly; Professor McGonagall had never paid him a compliment before.

“I’m sorry, Longbottom, but I cannot let you into my N.E.W.T. class. I see that you have an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in Charms, however—why not try for a N.E.W.T. in Charms?”

“My grandmother thinks Charms is a soft option,” mumbled Neville.

“Take Charms,” said Professor McGonagall, “and I shall drop Augusta a line reminding her that just because she failed _her_ Charms O.W.L. the subject is not necessarily worthless.” Smiling slightly at the look of delighted incredulity on Neville’s face, Professor McGonagall tapped a blank schedule with the tip of her wand and handed it, now carrying the details of his new classes, to Neville.

“Maxwell,” she called next, looking around for the braided new student.

“Yo,” he appeared suddenly behind the  stern professor, startling most everyone in the vicinity. “Here ya are, grams,” he handed her his application.

“Duo,” she sighed, regaining her composure, “while you are a student here at Hogwarts, especially during school hours, you will address all teachers with proper respect by calling them Professor.”

“Right-o, Prof,” he gave a devil-may-care grin. “Anyway, can I take these classes?”

She shook her head and consulted her list, “I see no problem with you taking Charms, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Transfiguration. But tell me, Duo, what on earth made you want to take Care of Magical Creatures?”

“Weellll,” he started bouncing on the balls of his feet, “ya see, up on L2 we didn’t have any animals really, and I think the magical ones sound awesome!”

McGonagall’s lips pursed slightly as her brows drew together in thought, “I guess I don’t see an issue with it, and it might keep you too busy to get into any trouble.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked indignantly, even as he took his new schedule.

Without answering, Professor McGonagall turned next to Parvati Patil, whose first question was whether Firenze, the handsome centaur, was still teaching Divination.

“He and Professor Trelawney are dividing classes between them this year,” said Professor McGonagall, a hint of disapproval in her voice; it was common knowledge that she despised the subject of Divination. “The sixth year is being taken by Professor Trelawney.”

Parvati set off for Divination five minutes later looking slightly crestfallen.

“So, Potter, Potter…” said Professor McGonagall, consulting her notes as she turned to Harry. “Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration… all fine. I must say I was pleased with your Transfiguration mark, Potter, very pleased. Now, why haven’t you applied to continue with Potions? I thought it was your ambition to become an Auror?”

“It was, but you told me I had to get an ‘Outstanding’ in my O.W.L., Professor.”

“And so you did when Professor Snape was teaching the subject. Professor Slughorn, however, is perfectly happy to accept N.E.W.T. students with ‘Exceeds Expectations’ at O.W.L. Do you wish to proceed with Potions?”

“Yes,” said Harry, “but I didn’t buy the books or any ingredients or anything—”

“I’m sure Professor Slughorn will be able to lend you some,” said Professor McGonagall. “Very well, Potter, here is your schedule. Oh, by the way—twenty hopefuls have already put down their names for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I shall pass the list to you in due course and you can fix up trials at your leisure.”

She turned her attention back to her list, “Potter…” she paused and looked up, “right, James Potter.”

Trowa was easily cleared for the same subjects as Duo and joined his companion in the hallway as they waited for the other two of their number to join them as they didn’t have a first-period class.

A few minutes later, Ron was cleared to do the same subjects as Harry, and the two of them left the table together, leaving only Heero left. The former Wing pilot was easily cleared for the same schedule as Wufei and headed off toward Ancient Runes after his Chinese friend.

Quatre exited the hall, a little while later, from the Slytherin table, having been cleared for Charms, Divination, Herbology, Arithmancy, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Transfiguration. He gave his boyfriend a quick kiss before heading off to his first class of the day: Divination.

“Sooo,” Duo said, once Quatre had left the entrance hall, “Trowa, it’s just you and me. Whatcha wanna do? We have a whole hour to ourselves.”

“I think we should return to the common room,” the one visible green eye was marking the progress of their two fellow Gryffindor sixth years.

“Ah, I see,” a mischievous smile crossed the former Deathscythe pilot’s face. “We’re gonna follow the little brother, aren’t we?”

The two former terrorists fell into step a few paces behind Ron and Harry as they returned to the common room, which was empty apart from a half dozen seventh years, including Katie Bell, the only remaining member of the original Gryffindor Quidditch team that Harry had joined in his first year.

“I thought you’d get that, well done,” she called over, pointing at the Captain’s badge on Harry’s chest. “Tell me when you call trials.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Harry, “you don’t need to try out, I’ve watched you play for five years….”

“You mustn’t start off like that,” she said warningly. “For all you know, there’s someone much better than me out there. Good teams have been ruined before now because Captains just kept playing the old faces, or letting in their friends….”

Ron looked a little uncomfortable and began playing with the Fanged Frisbee Hermione had taken from the fourth-year student. It zoomed around the common room, snarling and attempting to take bites of the tapestry. Crookshank’s yellow eyes followed it and he hissed when it came too close.

It was caught a moment later by the braided teen, who had just entered the common room. He twirled the snarling green disk around in his hands, examining it carefully. After another minute, he threw it expertly back across the room.

“Interesting contraption you’ve got there,” he commented offhandedly, flopping into a chair next to Ron, while Trowa took the one next to Harry.

“Yeah, I guess,” the redhead frowned at the two new students. “Did you want something?”

“Actually, we just figured we’d get ta know ya,” Duo beamed. “After all, Ry there’s family now.”

“I am not,” green eyes narrowed dangerously. “I don’t care what all of you say, we’re not family.”

“Think it’s the other way around,” an almost cruel laugh bubbled out of the former Deathscythe pilot’s mouth. “Ya see, we’ve got DNA proof that you are. Not that we can actually get the proof, cause it’s in the FRA system at the Preventers, and we’re kinda wanted… Long story.”

“If you don’t want to accept this, its fine,” the unibanged teen sighed. “It is a lot to take in, and without proof, it is meaningless.”

“Then why would you even go around pretending to be James Potter?” Harry asked slightly confused.

“Whether you accept the fact or not,” Trowa shook his head, “it doesn’t change that my real name is James Evan Potter, and I needed a new identity. So instead of creating a new one, I just took my original one. Not that I expected you to be here, my sources told me you lived in Surrey.”

“I do live in Surrey, when I’m not at school,” the bespectacled boy sighed. “Look, I can’t stop you from doing what you’re going to do, just please leave me out of it, and leave me alone. I have enough to deal with right now, I don’t need you.”

Without another word, he got to his feet and left the dormitory. He found a spot behind a suit of armor a floor down, and sat down. When he was sure he hadn’t been followed and that no one would find him for a while, he reached into his bag and pulled out a quill and parchment. He retrieved his ink and dipped his quill in.

_Dear Naruto,_

_I know this might come as a shock after not writing all summer, but you gave me some great advice last year, so I’m turning to you. I just found out I have a brother. I don’t even know what to think about this or how to feel. With everything going on in my life right now, I can’t deal with it. On top of that, Draco’s acting weird too. He’s saying and doing things that make me think he’s a Death Eater, but then he turns around and reassures me that I’m still his boyfriend and that he knows what he’s doing. I know, I know, I should stop whining and suck it up, my life isn’t that bad. Anyway, how are things going with you? How’s Neji? Have you become the leader of your village yet? Anyway, I hope to hear back from you._

_Your friend,_

_Harry_

He felt better once he’d finished writing. He rolled up the parchment after putting a translation charm on it, and figured he had just enough time to run up to the owlry and send it off with Hedwig before he had to be in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Once he sent the letter he made his way back down to the common room to meet up with Ron. Hermione was already queuing outside, carrying an armful of heavy books and looking put-upon.

“We got so much homework for Runes,” she said anxiously, when Harry and Ron joined her. “A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and I’ve got to read those by Wednesday!”

“Shame,” yawned Ron.

“You wait,” she said resentfully. “I bet Snape gives us loads.”

The classroom door opened as she spoke, and Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow face framed as ever by two curtains of greasy black hair. He was followed by a younger man with long black hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Silence fell over the queue immediately.

“Inside,” he said.

Harry looked around as they entered. Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight. New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.

“I have not asked you to take out your books,” said Snape, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind the desk; Hermione hastily dropped her copy of _Confronting the Faceless_ back into her bag and stowed it under her chair, the former pilots, however, left theirs on the desks in front of them since they already had them out and gave him blank stares. “I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention.”

His black eyes roved over their upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry’s than anyone else’s.

“Before we begin, allow me to introduce my assistant for the year,” he motioned to the younger man, who was standing on the other side of the desk.

“My name is Itachi Uchiha,” he bowed slightly. “You may call me Itachi-Sensei, or Sensei.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shared a look, while Heero’s eyes narrowed slightly. They recognized that name. Though the golden trio weren’t quite sure from where. As Snape continued, the newcomer stepped back and seemed to disappear into the shadows.

“You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe.”

 _You believe… like you haven’t watched them all come and go, Snape, hoping you’d be next,_ thought Harry scathingly.

“Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. works, which will be much more advanced.”

Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view.

“The Dark Arts,” said Snape, “are many varied, ever-changing and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible.”

Harry stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice.

“Your defenses,” said Snape, a little louder, “must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures”—he indicated a few of them as he swept past—“give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse”—he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony—“feel the Dementor’s Kiss”—a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall—“or provoke the aggression of the Inferius”—a bloody mass upon the ground.

“Has an Inferius been seen, then?” said Parvati Patil in a high pitched voice. “Is it definite, is he using them?”

“The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past,” said Snape, “which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now…”

He set off again around the other side of the classroom toward his desk, and again, they watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him.

“…you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?”

Hermione’s hand shot into the air, but it wasn’t the only one. Three of the five new students had theirs up as well. Snape took his time looking around at everybody else, before consulting the class roster, “Yes—Mr. Chang?”

“The advantage of nonverbal spells versus verbal spells,” the Chinese teen answered, “is that you give yourself a split second advantage over your opponent by not shouting to the world what you are doing. This is, of course, hinges on your opponent not being capable of reading wand movements or a Legilimens. That is why it is always prudent to have a secondary weapon, just in case.”

“Correct,” dark eyes studied the teen carefully. “Yes, those who progress to using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course, it is a question of concentration and mind power which some”—his gaze lingered maliciously upon Harry once more—“lack.”

Harry knew Snape was thinking of their disastrous Occlumancy lessons of the previous year. He refused to drop his gaze, but glowered at Snape until Snape looked away.

“You will now divide,” Snape went on, “into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other _without speaking_. The other will attempt to repel the jinx _in equal silence_. Carry on.”

Although Snape did not know it, Harry had taught at least half the class (everyone who had been a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. None of them had ever cast the charm without speaking, however. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued; many people were merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud. Typically, ten minutes into the lesson Hermione managed to repel Neville’s muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word, a feat that would surely have earned her twenty points for Gryffindor from any reasonable teacher, thought Harry bitterly, but which Snape ignored. He did, however, award Slytherin ten points when Quatre managed the same feat against Draco’s whispered Leg-Locker Curse.

He also ignored the full on, silent, battle going on in the corner with the four new Gryffindors. Luckily for him, his new assistant was keeping an eye on them. He only intervened when he saw Trowa pull a dagger from his sleeve and launch it at Wufei, who happened to be his partner. In a move that no one saw, he dashed between the two combatants and caught the blade between his first two fingers.

“Now, now, Mr. Potter,” red eyes slowly morphed to black as he twirled the blade between his fingers, “I believe I’m going to have to take some points for this. Let’s see, I’ll take ten points for being caught with a bladed weapon, and another twenty for being caught using it against another student.”

“Of course,” the unibanged teen nodded, holding his hand out for the knife. “I’ll do better next time, Sensei.”

“See that you do,” Itachi handed the knife back, handle first.

“So let me get this straight,” Duo cut in, “as long as you don’t catch us we won’t get in trouble? Is that a challenge?”

“Take it as you will, Mr. Maxwell,” a dark brow rose in amusement.

“Oh, you are so on, Tachi-Sensei,” the self proclaimed Shinigami grinned evilly.

“It is Itachi-Sensei,” he corrected.

“Yeah, whatever,” the braided teen waved him off.

Across the room, Snape swept between the students as they practiced, looking just as much like an overgrown bat as ever, lingering to watch Harry and Ron struggling with the task. Ron, who was supposed to be jinxing Harry, was purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Harry had his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel the jinx that seemed unlikely ever to come.

“Pathetic, Weasley,” said Snape, after a while. “Here—let me show you—”

He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; all thought of nonverbal spells forgotten, he yelled, _“Protego!”_

His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling.

“Do you remember me telling you we are practicing _nonverbal_ spells, Potter?”

“Yes,” said Harry stiffly.

“Yes, _sir_.”

“There’s no need to call me ‘sir,’ Professor.”

The words had escaped him before he knew what he was saying. Several people gasped, including Hermione. Behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively. Even the five former pilots and Draco sent encouraging smirks his way.

“Detention, Saturday night, my office,” said Snape. “I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter… not even _‘the Chosen One.’_ ”

888888

After lunch, Duo and Trowa made their way out of the castle to their Care of Magical Creatures lesson. They were apparently the only two who had decided to take this class as no one else had joined them in their trek across the grounds. They arrived at the gamekeeper’s hut, where a large man, larger even than Rashid, stood waiting for them. He smiled at them by way of greeting, but his beetle black eyes continued to scan the grounds leading back to the castle, as if expecting to see someone else.

“Well,” his shoulders slumped slightly after another five minutes passed, “I guess we should get started. If you’ll open yer books ter page five hundred twenty-seven, we’re goin’ ter be studyin’ demiguise today.”

“Truly?” Trowa’s one visible eye widened slightly in surprise.

“Yep,” Hagrid grinned. “Now, if you’ll follow me, I got him out back.”

“Hey,” Duo trotted along beside the half giant, “haven’t seen you much since we got here, how’ve ya been, Hagrid?”

“Can’ complain,” he grinned down at him. “Though I was spectin’ more o’ yeh to show up for class.”

“Well, what can I say?” the braided teen shrugged. “Some people just don’t appreciate creatures like we do. Anyway, what’s so special bout these demiguise things?”

“Demiguise are usually invisible, cept when they don’ wanna be,” Hagrid explained. “They’re pretty docile creatures most o’ the time. Though it’s best not ta startle ‘em. They’re known to be able ter predict the most probable outcome of a situation.”

As they rounded the cottage, there didn’t seem to be anything there, aside from the massive pumpkins that Hagrid was well known for growing. Trowa, however, was staring at a spot next to one of the largest pumpkins.

“What is her name?” he asked quietly, still approaching the spot.

When he was about a foot away from the pumpkin, he knelt down and held his hand out.

“Her name is Dotty,” Hagrid replied. “I borrowed her just for this lesson.”

A small smile crossed the unibanged teen’s face, as the demiguise, now visible, scampered over and crawled onto his shoulder.

“Aww, isn’t that sweet,” Duo chuckled. “Looks like you’ve made a friend, Tro.”

888888

Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent the whole of break speculating on what Dumbledore would teach Harry. Ron thought it most likely to be spectacular jinxes and hexes of the type the Death Eaters would not know. Hermione said such things were illegal, and thought it more likely Dumbledore wanted to teach Harry advanced Defensive magic. After break, she went off to Arithmancy while Harry and Ron returned to the common room, where they grudgingly started Snape’s homework. This turned out to be so complex that they still had not finished when Hermione joined them for their after-lunch free period (though she considerably speeded up the process) They had only just finished when the bell rang for the afternoon’s double Potions and they beat the familiar path down to the dungeon classroom that had, for so long, been Snape’s.

When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only sixteen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy and the new student. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry liked despite his rather pompous manner.

“Harry,” Ernie said portentously, holding out his hand as Harry approached, “didn’t get a chance to speak in Defense Against the Dark Arts this morning. Good lesson, I thought, but Shield Charms are old hat, of course, for us old D.A. lags… And how are you, Ron—Hermione?”

Before they could say more than “fine,” the dungeon door opened and Slughorn’s belly preceded him out of the door. As they filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth, and as he greeted Harry, Duo, Quatre, and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.

The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws and the four new Gryffindors. This left Harry, Ron, and Hermione to share a table with Ernie. They chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting  one of the most seductive scents Harry had ever inhaled: Somehow it reminded him simultaneously of treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle, and he thought it was sandalwood but he wasn’t quite sure. He found that he was breathing very slowly and deeply and that the potion’s fumes seemed to be filling him up like a drink. A great contentment stole over him; he grinned across at Ron, who grinned back lazily.

“Now then, now then, now then,” said Slughorn, whose massive outline was quivering through the many shimmering vapors. “Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don’t forget your copies of _Advanced Potion-Making_ ….”

“Sir?” said Harry, raising his hand.

“Harry, m’boy?”

“I haven’t got a book or scales or anything—nor’s Ron—we didn’t realize we’d be able to do the N.E.W.T., you see—”

“Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention… not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I’m sure we can lend you some scales and we’ve got a small stock of old books here, they’ll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts….”

Slughorn strode over to a corner cupboard and, after a moment’s foraging, emerged with two very battered-looking copies of _Advanced Potion-Making_ by Libatius Borage, which he gave to Harry and Ron along with two sets of tarnished scales.

“Now then,” said Slughorn, returning to the front of the class and inflating his already bulging chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to burst off, “I’ve prepared a few potions for you to have a look at just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of thing you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of ’em, even if you haven’t made ’em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?”

He indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Harry raised himself slightly in his seat and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it.

Hermione’s well-practiced hand hit the air before anybody else’s; Slughorn pointed at her.

“It’s Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth,” said Hermione.

“Or at least their version of the truth,” Duo interjected, propping his chair back on two legs. “It’s not a foolproof method. Like any truth serum it can be fought or overrode, depending on what the drinker believes to be true. Say you give that potion to an Ozzie, they’re gonna say that Treize shit gold and that his ideal world was what the Earth needed, you give it to someone like Relena and they’re gonna say that weapons are the enemy and that no one should have them. Whereas you give it to me, everyone’s wrong and people should be free to do what the fuck they want.”

“Very good, on both accounts,” said Slughorn happily. “Duo brings up an excellent point. That is the very reason that Veritaserum, while powerful, is not admissible in a trial. Now,” he continued, pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaw table, “this one here is pretty well known…. Featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too… Who can—?”

Hermione’s hand was fastest once more.

“It’s Polyjuice Potion, sir,” she said.

Harry too recognized the slow-bubbling mudlike substance in the second cauldron, but did not resent Hermione getting credit for answering the question; she, after all, was the one who had succeeded in making it, back in their second year.

“Though it is incomplete without a piece of the person you want to impersonate,” the braided teen shrugged. “And assuming you can act like a believable impersonation as well. Cause if you don’t know them, and someone comes up who does, then you’re SOL.”

“Excellent, excellent. Now, this one here… yes, my dear?” said Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused, as Hermione’s hand punched the air again.

“It’s Amortentia!”

“It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask,” said Slughorn, who was looking slightly impressed, “but I assume you know what it does?”

“It’s the most powerful love potion in the world!” said Hermione.

“Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?”

“And the steam rising in characteristic spirals,” said Hermione enthusiastically, “and it’s supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and—”

But she turned slightly pink and did not complete the sentence.

“May I ask your name, my dear?” said Slughorn, ignoring Hermione’s embarrassment.

“Hermione Granger, sir.”

“Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?”

“No, I don’t think so, sir. I’m Muggle-born, you see.”

Harry saw Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered, but Slughorn showed no dismay; on the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her.

“Oho! _‘One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she’s the best in our year!’_ I’m assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?”

“Yes, sir,” said Harry.

“Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger,” said Slughorn genially.

Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face, though he turned slightly and caught Harry’s eye and he could see amusement lurking in the grey depths. Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, “Did you really tell him I’m the best in the year? Oh, Harry!”

“Well, what’s so impressive about that?” whispered Ron, who for some reason looked annoyed. “You _are_ the best in the year—I’d’ve told him so if he’d asked me!”

Hermione smiled but made a “shhing” gesture, so that they could hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled.

“Amortentia doesn’t really create _love_ , of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room—oh yes,” he said, nodding gravely at Malfoy and Nott, both of whom were smirking skeptically. “When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love….”

“Don’t we know it,” Duo snorted loudly. “How could we ever forget the crazy pink stalker bitch with a Heero complex? Hey, Hee-chan, think she might’ve taken some of that by mistake, intending to give it to you?”

“Duo,” Prussian blue eyes hardened into a glare, “Omae o kurosu. (1)”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at the shaggy haired brunet in shock. They thought the new group of students were close, they seemed close, but then why would he threaten to kill Duo?

“And now,” said Slughorn, choosing to ignore the outburst, “it is time for us to start work.”

“Sir, you haven’t told us what’s in this one,” said Ernie Macmillan, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn’s desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily, it was the color of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle had spilled.

“Oho,” said Slughorn again. Harry was sure that Slughorn had not forgotten at all, but had waited to be asked for dramatic effect. “Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it,” he turned, smiling to look at Hermione, who had let out an audible gasp, “that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?”

“That’s liquid luck,” Duo’s chair clattered back into an upright position.

“It makes you lucky!” Hermione pouted slightly at the interruption.

“That’s a misnomer,” the braided teen shook his head. “It doesn’t actually make you lucky, it more guides you into the desired direction, even if you don’t know that’s the direction you wanted to go in.”

The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter. Now all Harry could see of Malfoy was the back of his sleek blond head, because he was at last giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention.

“Quite right, take another ten points each for Gryffindor. Yes, it’s a funny little potion, Felix Felicis,” said Slughorn. “Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed… at least until the effects wear off.”

“Why don’t people drink it all the time, sir?” said Terry Boot eagerly.

“Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence,” said Slughorn. “Too much of a good thing, you know… highly toxic in large quantities.”

“That and it’s fuckin’ expensive as all shit,” Duo scoffed. “The street value of Pot ’O Gold there is five grand an ounce, that’s twelve hours of effects. Most dealers break it down further just to move it. A teaspoon of that, gives you an hour, two tops, goes for just under a grand.”

“Perhaps, you and I should have a little chat after class, Mr. Maxwell,” Slughorn eyed Duo with a critical eye.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he waved dismissively.

“Have you ever taken it, sir?” asked Michael Corner with great interest.

“Twice in my life,” said Slughorn. “Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoons taken with breakfast. Two perfect days.”

He gazed dreamily into the distance. Whether he was playacting or not, thought Harry, the effect was good.

“And that,” said Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, “is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson.”

There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold.

“One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis,” said Slughorn, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to them all. “Enough for twelve hours’ luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt.

“Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions… sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only… and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!

“So,” said Slughorn, suddenly brisk, “how are you to win my fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of _Advanced Potion-Making_. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!”

There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible. Harry saw Malfoy riffling feverishly through his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_. It could not have been clearer that Malfoy really wanted that lucky day. Harry bent swiftly over the tattered book Slughorn had lent him.

While the rest of the class scrambled, the former pilots calmly set about their task, none of them overly interested in the prize being offered. That didn’t mean they weren’t going to do the assignment, they just didn’t particularly care if they won. Duo, however, just seemed to be pulling things out at random and hadn’t even opened his book.

“And time’s… up!” called Slughorn. “Stop stirring, please!”

Slughorn moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potion a stir or sniff. That was until he reached Duo’s cauldron.

“Duo, my dear boy,” he frowned as he examined the bright green potion in the braided teen’s cauldron, “what exactly is this? It is not a potion I’ve seen before. And,” he leaned closer and gave a great sniff, “why does it smell like mint?”

“Well,” he smirked, “I call it The Chameleon. It’s similar to the Polyjuice Potion, only it lasts maybe fifteen minutes, and it doesn’t turn you into another person, it just changes your features enough so you don’t look like you. Makes for easy getaways. And the reason it smells like mint is cause that’s what I had on hand. It can be any flavor you want.”

“I’ve never heard of it before,” Slughorn scowled thoughtfully.

“You wouldn’t’ve, unless you visited the dregs of L2. That’s where I created it.”

“While that is impressive,” Slughorn shook his head, “why did you feel the need to make this potion rather than the one you were assigned?”

“Because the Draught of Living Death is stupid,” amethyst eyes rolled in annoyance. “And unless your name is Maleficent and you want to curse a princess to sleep for a hundred years, there’s really no point to it.”

Hermione couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her, before quickly covering her mouth.

“I will let it slide, this time,” he leveled Duo with a glare, “however, in the future you will do the assigned potion or you will lose points and I’ll be forced to give you a detention.”

Without waiting for a response, he continued on his way around the room. At last he reached the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ernie were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron’s cauldron. He passed over Ernie’s navy concoction. Hermione’s potion he gave an approving nod. Then he saw Harry’s, and a look of incredulous delight spread over his face.

“The clear winner!” he cried to the dungeon. “Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good lord, it’s clear you’ve inherited your mother’s talent. She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are—one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!”

Harry slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, feeling an odd combination of delight at the furious looks on the Slytherins’ faces and guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione’s. Ron looked simply dumbfounded.

“How did you do that?” he whispered to Harry as they left the dungeon.

“Got lucky, I suppose,” said Harry, because Malfoy had just bumped into him as he passed, though his eyes narrowed as he caught a whiff of sandalwood again.

Once they were securely ensconced at the Gryffindor table for dinner, however, he felt safe enough to tell them. Hermione’s face became stonier with every word he uttered.

“I s’pose you think I cheated?” he finished, aggravated by her expression.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly your own work, was it?” she said stiffly.

“He only followed different instructions to ours,” said Ron. “Could’ve been a catastrophe, couldn’t it? But he took a risk and it paid off.” He heaved a sigh. “Slughorn could’ve handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one’s ever written on. _Puked_ on, by the look of page fifty-two, but—”

“Hang on,” said a voice close by Harry’s left ear. He looked around and saw that Ginny had joined them. “Did I hear right? You’ve been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?”

She looked alarmed and angry. Harry knew what was on her mind at once.

“It’s nothing,” he said reassuringly, lowering his voice. “It’s not like, you know, Riddle’s diary. It’s just an old textbook some one’s scribbled on.”

“But you’re doing what it says?”

“I just tried a few of the tips written in the margins, honestly, Ginny, there’s nothing funny—”

“Ginny’s got a point,” said Hermione, perking up at once. “We ought to check that there’s nothing odd about it. I mean, all these funny instructions, who knows?”

“Hey!” said Harry indignantly, as she pulled his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ out of his bag and raised her wand.

 _“Specialis Revelio!”_ she said, rapping it smartly on the front cover.

Nothing whatsoever happened. The book simply lay there, looking old and dirty and dog-eared.

“It seems all right,” said Hermione, still staring at the book suspiciously. “I mean, it really does seem to be… just a textbook.”

“Here, let me see,” a hand reached across the table and pulled the book over.

Four sets of eyes followed its progress, till they landed on the four new sixth years They hadn’t even realized had taken seats across from them. The book was now being flipped through by the braided teen.

“Ya know,” he pursed his lips thoughtfully, “these notes aren’t bad. They seem like they’re from someone who plays around with potions just for the hell of it.”

“How do you know so much about potions?” Hermione’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Well, my mom, I guess she was, wow that is so weird, taught me when I was eight,” he shook his head. “I just kinda have a knack for it. She said I was the best she’d ever seen.”

“Okay,” Ron leaned forward on his elbows, clearly curious. “But how do you know so much about Felix Felicis? Like how much it sells for?”

“That,” Duo laughed ruefully, “well, let’s just say you gotta know the product to move it. I used to make and sell lots of potions when I lived on the streets for a quick buck.”

“Have you ever used it before?” Harry asked.

“Once.”

The other three pilots turned to look at their companion. Clearly, they were interested in this answer as well.

“When?” Wufei prodded, his dark eyes narrowing.

“It was a little over four years ago,” he met each of the others eyes, “it was how I met G.”

“That was lucky?” Trowa’s visible brow rose incredulously.

“Not all luck is good,” he winked. “Anyway, Ry, I wouldn’t worry too much about this book. It’s pretty legit.”

“Good. Then I’ll have it back,” said Harry, snatching it away from the braided teen, but it slipped from his hand and landed open on the floor.

Nobody else was looking. Harry bent low to retrieve the book, as he did so, he saw something scribbled along the bottom of the back cover in the same small, cramped handwriting as the instructions that had won him his bottle of Felix Felicis, now safely hidden inside a pair of socks in his truck upstairs.

_This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince._

As he picked it up again, a folded piece of parchment fluttered out of it. He snatched it up and replaced the book in his bag. He then straightened up and surreptitiously unfolded the parchment under the table.

_Meet me at the Room of Requirements 11 p.m. on Friday. COME ALONE! We need to talk._

 

 

(1. I'll kill you in Japanese)


	6. A Brief Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is a lime in this chapter. It is marked so please feel free to skip it.

Chapter 6: A Brief Interlude

 

For the rest of the week’s Potions lessons, Harry continued to follow the Half-Blood Prince’s instructions wherever they deviated from Libatius Borage’s, with the result that by their fourth lesson Slughorn was raving about Harry’s abilities, saying that he had rarely taught anyone so talented, except perhaps Duo, who never bothered to even open his textbook and still managed to produce nearly flawless potions. Neither Ron nor Hermione was delighted by this. Although Harry had offered to share his book with both of them, Ron had more difficulty deciphering the handwriting than Harry did, and could not keep asking Harry to read aloud or it might look suspicious. Hermione, meanwhile, was resolutely plowing on with what she called the “official” instructions, but becoming increasingly bad-tempered as they yielded poorer results than the Prince’s.

Before he realized it, Harry found that Friday had snuck up on him. He hadn’t told anyone, not even Ron or Hermione, about the note he had found on their first day. He had decided to find out what the other person wanted before alarming his best friends. That didn’t mean he’d be stupid about it, he’d use the Invisibility Cloak and he’d have his wand as well.

So after dinner that night, he feigned a headache and headed up to bed. He pulled out his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder’s Map and stashed them both under his pillow. He pulled the curtains to make sure no one was in the immediate vicinity, before slipping on his Cloak and headed back to the common room.

There weren’t many people there, which was kind of surprising given that it was Friday night. The new students, minus Duo, were gathered in a corner and seemed to be working on homework, while Ron and Hermione were next to the fire and appeared to be in one of their usual snits. He watched silently as the Chinese teen, Wufei he thought his name was, got up and stood between the bickering pair. He couldn’t stick around to see how things turned out though, he’d be late.

He was slightly concerned as he inched his way to the portrait hole. How was he supposed to get out without drawing attention? He got lucky though, as it swung open just as he reached it, admitting Duo into the common room. He seized the opportunity and slipped easily through the now open doorway.

Once the portrait was safely closed behind him, he pulled out a seemingly blank old piece of parchment and tapped it with his wand.

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he muttered under his breath.

Thin lines began spreading across the parchment. A moment later, a map of the entire castle appeared. He made sure the coast was clear before making his way to the seventh floor and the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy. He wasn’t sure what he should be expecting so he didn’t know what to make the room appear as.

With a sigh, he leaned against the wall and watched the spectacle that was trolls learning the ballet. He had barely settled in when a door appeared and opened directly behind him and he fell backwards into the Room of Requirement. He didn’t have time to yell or even pull his wand when an arm secured itself around his waist, keeping him on his feet, and a hand clasped firmly over his mouth.

“Quiet, Harry, we don’t want to draw attention, now do we?” a familiar voice drawled in his ear and he relaxed into the hold as the smell of sandalwood filled his nostrils.

In a moment of complete immaturity, Harry stuck his tongue out and licked the hand covering his mouth. The hand withdrew immediately, and its owner began shaking it in disgust.

“That was gross, Harry. Why would you do that?”

Harry turned in the remaining hold and stared incredulously at the blond.

“So what, Draco,” his brow rose in question, “you can have my tongue shoved down your throat with no qualms, but it disgusts you for me to lick your hand?”

“Well, when you put it that way,” the blond smirked.

His grip on Harry’s waist tightened and he captured the other’s mouth in a desperate and searing kiss. Harry couldn’t help it, and melted into the embrace. All his suspicions and insecurities were pushed to the back of his mind as his boyfriend lifted him off his feet and he wrapped his legs around the Slytherin’s waist.

***LIME***

He groaned slightly as a moment later his back hit the wall. It quickly morphed into a moan as Draco bucked his hips, causing delicious friction against his growing erection.

After a few minutes, the blond released Harry’s mouth, causing him to gasp for air and began planting open mouthed, wet kisses down the slim column of his neck, his hips still grinding maddeningly against his own. Harry tilted his head, allowing for better access. When he reached the juncture where neck met shoulder, Draco bit down, causing Harry to cry out both in pain and pleasure as he released himself in his jeans. Draco’s hips continued to move frantically, searching for his own orgasm as he soothed the bite with his tongue. He then leaned his forehead against Harry’s shoulder as he reached his own completion.

***END LIME***

After they had both caught their breath, the Slytherin pushed off the wall, still holding Harry securely in his arms and moved a few feet over and landed bonelessly on the couch the room had provided. Harry managed to unwrap himself from his boyfriend, but only so he could stretch out and be more comfortable, with his head resting on the blond’s shoulder and their legs tangled together.

“You knew there was a couch here this entire time,” green eyes rose lazily to meet gray, “and you still chose the wall?”

“There’s also a bed,” Draco drawled languidly. “But I didn’t hear you complaining at the time.”

“You’re an ass,” Harry muttered sleepily.

“That may be true,” the blond shifted slightly and began carding his fingers through the wayward raven locks. “But what can I say, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” the Gryffindor sighed, everything coming back in a rush. “But you asked me here to talk, so I think we should. You can start with this,” he sat up, pulling Draco up with him, and lifted his left sleeve, revealing, what Harry had suspected to be there since Diagon Alley, the Dark Mark.

“That,” Draco gave a heavy sigh. “That is why I asked to talk. I had no choice, Harry, you have to understand that.”

“I don’t, Draco,” Harry turned away, tears filling his eyes. “I don’t understand how you could ever join that murdering monster.”

“I know what he is,” the blond ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not stupid. He threatened to kill my parents in front of me and then kill me. Call me weak or a coward, but I can’t bear to even think about that,” tears began running down his own cheeks. “I love my parents, and if I can stop anything from happening to them, I will. Wouldn’t you? I’m sorry,” he said as Harry flinched, “that wasn’t fair of me.”

“No, you’re right,” Harry shook his head. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted was to have my parents back. If I could do something to bring them back, I would, but I can’t. So how can I blame you for doing the same? But that brings up the question of what we’re going to do. You can’t exactly be my boyfriend and a Death Eater, I’m kinda number one on Voldemort’s hit list.”

“I’ve thought about that, most of the summer actually, and this past week as well,” Draco bit his lip. “And well, you’re supposed to be the one who’s able to defeat him, right? I was thinking that maybe you could use an inside man.”

“No,” the Boy-Who-Lived said immediately. “No, I can’t let you do that. It’s too dangerous.”

“You don’t get it,” the Slytherin smirked wryly, “I’m already in danger, I’m a Death Eater. I just figured we could use it to our advantage.”

“How, Draco?” green eyes stared at him incredulously. “Voldemort can practically read people’s minds, how are you supposed to hide it from him?”

“Well, about that,” the blond chuckled nervously, “my aunt taught me Occlumancy over the summer. She did it mostly so I could keep things from Dumbledore, but it’ll work on _him_ too, as long as I play it carefully.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“Well, it’s like on the train,” Draco explained. “I made it so I could pass it off like I was trying to fight you. I’m sorry for that by the way. But if the memory seems real enough, then people don’t look too closely for more.”

“If you say so,” Harry shook his head. “So what are you supposed to be doing anyway?”

“I do, and I’m not going to tell you because I know you can’t do Occlumancy,” he tapped Harry lightly on the nose. “All I ask is that you trust me and don’t give up on me. As long as I know you’re on my side, I won’t lose myself.”

“Fine, I promise,” Harry turned to face his boyfriend fully. “But you have to do something for me too.”

“Anything.”

“You and I will meet up at least once a week,” he said seriously. “I know things will come up, like detentions, and Quidditch, and whatnot, but we need to at least try.”

“Okay,” Draco placed his hand on Harry’s cheek and leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips.

He didn’t linger this time, but pulled the unresisting Gryffindor against his chest. Once they were both settled comfortably, Draco spoke again.

“So what do you know about the new students?” he asked. “Think they might be bodyguards again?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “They’re the Gundam pilots, according to Hermione, though I’m not quite sure what that means at the moment. And they’re hiding from something in the Muggle world, they wouldn’t elaborate, and I didn’t really care to find out.”

“Winner’s not very forthcoming either,” the blond sighed. “All I’ve found out from him is that he’s dating Maxwell and that his mother and mine were cousins. I even wrote Mother and confirmed that one. Apparently, Quaterine Black was disowned when she ran off and married the Muggle Zayeed Winner and went to space.”

“Well, the Winners are a very wealthy Muggle family,” Harry interjected. “I’ve even heard of them. My uncle keeps trying to form business deals with Winner Enterprises.”

“Hm,” the Slytherin shrugged, not really caring. “What about the one calling himself Potter? What’s his story?”

“According to him, he’s my brother,” the raven haired teen frowned. “He has no actual proof, but according to the Family Reconstruction Act, we’re related. But without that proof, there’s no way I can even confirm it.”

“What about your aunt? Wouldn’t she know?”

Harry scoffed, “Even if she did, she wouldn’t tell me, just to spite me.”

“Okay,” Draco chuckled, “so that’s out. What about Lupin? Wasn’t he one of your dad’s best friends? He might know.”

“Why didn’t I think of Remus?” he smacked his forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot him. I’ve only been thinking about Sirius, and the fact that he’s not here. I should write Remus.”

He made to get up, but Draco held him firmly in place.

“You can do that tomorrow. Right now, I think we should get some sleep. It’s really late now.”

“Oh, alright,” Harry conceded, settling back against the other’s chest.

“I think I’m going to have to be an ass again, though,” the blond stretched as best he could on the couch, “and insist we move to the bed.”

“Fine.”

They both got up and made their way to the bed that was on their left. They both stripped down to their boxers and then crawled into the queen sized bed with the dark green covers. Within moments, they were both lost in the peaceful embrace of each other and Morpheus.

888888

A young man, with shaggy blond spikes, sat behind a large desk in the largest building in the middle of a sprawling village. Outside the window at his back the sun was beginning its descent below the horizon. The lights within the room and around the village began to flicker to life in the gathering dusk. All of this seemed lost on the blond though as he poured over a large stack of papers on the desk in front of him.

Just as the first stars began to wink into existence in the velvety blackness, a knock sounded on the closed office door. The blond started violently at the interruption, managing to blot the scroll he’d been working on.

“Damn it!” he muttered before saying loudly enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear, “Enter!”

“Naruto,” a hawk masked ANBU with waist length brown hair stuck his head in, “it’s time to go.”

“Is it really?” cerulean orbs turned to the window. “Oh, I guess it’s already dark. Alright,” he pushed to his feet, leaving the mess for later, “let’s go. Are we gonna eat before we head home?”

“No,” the hawk shook his head. “Shikamaru’s mother sent food over. Apparently, she felt he needed to make a good impression because the Kazekage is coming to visit.”

“Right, Gaara’s coming for a few days,” Naruto grinned.

“He’s not coming here for you, Naruto,” the hawk chuckled. “He’s here to spend time with his boyfriend.”

“Alright, alright, let’s go,” the blond pouted slightly.

The hawk ANBU just laughed quietly at the other’s antics as they made their way out of the office and toward the exit. They strolled leisurely through the village. They were greeted cheerfully by most of the villagers they passed, or at least Naruto was, his companion, however, was glad for his anonymity.

They made it to the house they shared with the lazy shadow ninja twenty minutes later and went inside. The sight that greeted them as they entered the living room was not what either of them had been expecting. Their housemate, Shikamaru Nara, had their guest pinned to the couch and was apparently kissing him senseless.

“Should we come back later?” the ANBU asked, removing his mask to reveal amused pale silver eyes.

“You’re timing could be better, Neji,” the brunet turned to glare at the Hyuga.

“I seem to recall your timing is usually… horrible,” Neji shook his head. “It’s nice to get a little payback.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shikamaru tossed a pillow in Neji’s direction, which he caught easily. “Anyway, food’s in the kitchen. We should probably eat before my mom decides to show up and bitch that we let it get cold, I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Hi, Gaara,” Naruto waved at the redhead, smiling sunnily and completely ignoring the other two.

“Naruto,” the Kazekage nodded, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

The other two shook their heads at their housemate’s antics, before they each grabbed one of his arms and began dragging him into the kitchen. Gaara shook his head slightly as he followed in their wake. They all took seats at the small table and began to eat.

“So,” Naruto said, about halfway through the meal, “Gaara, how long are you planning to stay?”

“Just a few days, for now,” the redhead replied.

“For now?” Neji asked, mildly confused. “You make it sound like that will change.”

“It will,” jade orbs turned unblinkingly to the Hyuga.

“Why?” Naruto blurted out. “What’s going on?”

“After the mission of the past year,” the redhead shook his head, “the council has demanded I turn in my resignation. They said that my absence proved I was not needed or qualified as Kazekage.”

“Weren’t they the ones that sent you on the mission in the first place?” pale eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Come on, Neji, you’re not stupid,” Shikamaru scoffed, “they’re using it as an excuse to kick him out.”

“This is true,” Gaara agreed. “And I do plan on relocating to Konoha once it is done, I won’t give them the chance to reconsider and try to kill me. However, by forcing me to resign, I am able to choose my successor.”

“Let me guess, you picked your brother?” the shadow ninja chuckled.

“That was my first thought, but no,” an evil smirk crossed the former jinchuriki’s face. “I actually found someone better. Someone who will piss the council off even more.”

“Oh, who’s that and how do you know they’ll piss them off more than you?” Naruto asked incredulously.

“As Kazekage, I had access to all village records,” Gaara explained, “and since I do not sleep, I had time to read quite a lot of them. I discovered that generations ago an entire clan was banished from the Hidden Villages because of their power. They were said to have abilities, aside from their chakra based ones. From what I have gathered from my readings and our mission last year, I have come to the conclusion that they were magic based shinobi, which would cause others to fear and be jealous of them. When they left Suna, they made their way to the space colonies, where no one would bother them. Well, I have spent the past few months since our return digging and I believe I have finally found the last remaining member of that clan. I have named him my successor. Kankuro and Temari are heading to his last reported location as we speak to fetch him.”

“That’s all well and good, Gaara,” Neji frowned, “but what’s to stop the council from overturning your decision and not letting him become Kazekage.”

“If they try to stop his appointment, my last act as Kazekage will be to cede Sunagakure to the Land of Fire,” he said matter-of-factly. “I already have the paperwork drawn up, and Lady Tsunade and the other kages have signed them, they are just waiting for my signature to go through. So in the end, they will accept him or lose everything.”

“That’s devious, Gaara,” his boyfriend shook his head. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”

Before anything else could be said, a loud, insistent tapping sounded on the small kitchen window. All eyes turned to the disturbance, weapons flying into hands as easily as breathing. They relaxed marginally as three-quarters of them recognized the large, snowy owl perched on the sill.

“That’s Hedwig!” Naruto jumped up and practically flew to open the window. “She’s got a letter! Guys, Harry wrote to us!”

“It’s probably just for you, Naruto,” his boyfriend laughed. “You were closer to him than the rest of us.”

The blond stuck his tongue out as the bird landed on his outstretched arm and he relieved her of the letter attached to her leg. He made his way back to the table and offered her some water from his own glass and whatever scraps of whatever was left she wanted. He took his seat again and unrolled the parchment.

“ _‘Dear Naruto,’_ ” he read aloud. “ _‘I know this might come as a shock after not writing all summer,’_ Damn straight it is, _‘but you gave me some great advice last year, so I’m turning to you.’_ Aw, don’t I feel special.”

The other three rolled their eyes at this, but he ignored them and continued reading.

“ _‘I just found out I have a brother.’_ What the hell, how is that possible? _‘I don’t even know what to think about this or how to feel. With everything going on in my life right now, I can’t deal with it. On top of that…’_ Wait! That’s it?! What’s going on with this brother?”

“Why don’t you continue reading?” Neji prodded. “You can always ask for more information about it when you reply.”

“Fine. _‘…Draco’s acting weird too. He’s saying and doing things that made me think he’s a Death Eater, but then he turns around and reassures me that I’m still his boyfriend and that he knows what he’s doing. I know, I know, I should stop whining and suck it up, my life isn’t that bad.’_ At least he learned, but this is kind of a big thing. _‘Anyway, how are things going with you? How’s Neji? Have you become the leader of your village? Anyway, I hope to hear back from you. Your friend, Harry.’_ ”

“This is such a drag,” Shikamaru rubbed his neck. “I should probably send a letter for Draco with your reply, sounds like he needs a talking to.”

“Why don’t we all write him?” Neji suggested. “Sounds like he could use some encouragement right now.”

“Great!” Naruto grinned. “Maybe we can get the others to, too? I’m sure it’d cheer him up. You don’t mind waiting around a couple days, do you, Hedwig?”

The owl gave a soft hoot of acknowledgement and went back to the food in front of her. The blond nodded and went off in search of a scroll so he could write a reply.


	7. Chapter 7: Letters and Quidditch

Chapter 7: Letters and Quidditch

 

The following morning, Harry woke early. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason for his early rising; it could be that the room was unfamiliar, or that there were several important matters on his mind, or it might be the fact that his boyfriend was breathing lightly in his ear as he slept spooned up behind him. Whatever the reason, he was glad he was awake. This way he could get back to Gryffindor tower without arising suspicion.

He carefully untangled himself from Draco’s arms, managing not to wake him, and finally took in the room they were in. Directly across from the bed was the door leading into the hallway. On the left hand wall was a magnificent fireplace, burning merrily in the early morning chill. An ornate rug covered the floor in front of it, all the way to a plush sofa some four feet away, the one they’d utilized the night before. To the right was an oak wardrobe and an open door into an opulent bathroom.

He made his way over to the bathroom, his bladder making its usual morning demands. When he returned, he was happy to see the blond still sleeping peacefully. He decided to let him be, he looked like he could use it. Instead, he looked around and wished he’d brought his bag with him so he could write to Remus.

Almost as if the room had read his thoughts, an ornate oak writing desk materialized to the left of the fireplace. He smiled as he made his way over to it, he loved magic so much. He opened the drawer and pulled out a piece of parchment, a quill, and ink and then sat down to compose his letter.

_Dear Remus,_

_I know I haven’t written and for that, I am truly sorry. Sirius’ death has been hard, and I can only imagine what it’s been like for you. I wish you would talk to me about it, we both loved him and I’m sure we both miss him equally. Just know I’m here for you if you want to talk._

_On another note, I have a question for you. Do you know if my parents had another kid? The only reason I’m asking is because there’s a new student here this year claiming to be James Evan Potter. He claims that according to the FRA (the Family Reconstruction Act, in case you didn’t know, it’s a Muggle thing), he’s my brother. I don’t know if I should believe him and I don’t know who else to ask._

_Anyway, I hope you are well, and I hope to hear from you soon._

_Love,_

_Harry_

He had just finished rolling it up and sealing it with his wand, when a pair of strong arms wrapped around his shoulders. He leaned back into the embrace and turned his head to accept the kiss that was being offered.

“Writing to Lupin?” Draco asked, placing his chin on Harry’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” the Gryffindor replied. “I should probably go send it and then head to breakfast. We don’t want anyone to get suspicious after all.”

“I wish we could stay here all day,” the blond sighed. “But sadly, you’re right. We’ll meet up again next week, as promised.”

“Yeah, same time, same place,” the raven nodded. “Unless something comes up, but we’ll let each other know if that happens.”

“Till then,” the blond leaned in and stole another kiss.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. “I’ll see you around. Right now, I’ve got to go find an owl to send this letter.”

“What’s wrong with Hedwig?” Draco asked, his hand on the door handle.

“Nothing,” the Boy-Who-Lived shook his head. “I sent her to Konoha. I honestly didn’t think about Remus, so I wrote to Naruto, asking for advice.”

“You would,” his boyfriend chuckled. “Use Aries, I don’t plan on using him this week.”

“Thanks, Dray,” Harry gave him a quick kiss and opened the door. “I’ll see you later.”

He slipped on his Invisibility Cloak and disappeared from view, leaving the Slytherin to find his own way back to his common room.

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As Hermione had predicted, the sixth years’ free periods were not the hours of blissful relaxation Ron had anticipated, but times in which to attempt to keep up with the vast amount of homework they were being set. Not only were they studying as though they had exams every day, but the lessons themselves had become more demanding than ever before. Harry barely understood half of what Professor McGonagall said to them these days; even Hermione had had to ask her to repeat instructions once or twice. The only ones who didn’t seem to have problems were the new students, and then it only seemed to be Wufei because Harry had caught the other four turning to him for help occasionally. Incredibly, and to Hermione’s increasing resentment, Harry’s best subject had suddenly become Potions, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince.

Nonverbal spells were now expected, not only in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration too. Harry frequently looked over at his classmates in the common room or at mealtimes to see them purple in the face and straining as though they had overdosed on U-No-Poo; but he knew that they were really struggling to make spells work without saying incantations aloud. It was a relief to get outside into the greenhouses; they were dealing with more dangerous plants than ever in Herbology, but at least they were still allowed to swear loudly if the Venomous Tentacula seized them unexpectedly from behind.

One result of their enormous workload and the frantic hours of practicing nonverbal spells was that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had so far been unable to find time to go and visit Hagrid. He had stopped coming to meals at the staff table, an ominous sign, and on the few occasions when they had passed him in the corridors or out in the grounds, he had mysteriously failed to notice them or hear their greetings.

“We’ve got to go and explain,” said Hermione, looking up at Hagrid’s huge empty chair at the staff table the following Saturday at breakfast.

Harry didn’t answer as he was distracted by the entrance of his boyfriend and the memories of the past night they’d spent in the Room of Requirements.

“We’ve got Quidditch tryouts this morning!” said Ron. “ _And_ we’re supposed to be practicing the Aguamenti Charm from Flitwick! Anyway, explain what? How are we going to tell him we hated his stupid subject?”

“We didn’t hate it!” said Hermione.

“Speak for yourself, I haven’t forgotten the skrewts,” said Ron darkly. “And I’m telling you now, we’ve had a narrow escape. You didn’t hear him going on about his gormless brother—we’d have been teaching Grawp to tie his shoelaces if we’d stayed.”

“I hate not talking to Hagrid,” said Hermione, looking upset.

“We’ll go down after Quidditch,” Harry assured her, coming back to the conversation. He too was missing Hagrid, although like Ron he thought that they were better off without Grawp in their lives. “But trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied.” He felt slightly nervous at confronting the first hurdle of his Captaincy. “I dunno why the team’s this popular all of a sudden.”

“Oh, come on, Harry,” said Hermione, suddenly impatient. “It’s not _Quidditch_ that’s popular; it’s you! You’ve never been more interesting and frankly, you’ve never been more fanciable.”

Ron gagged on a large piece of kipper. Hermione spared him one look of disdain before turning back to Harry.

“Everyone knows you’ve been telling the truth now, don’t they? The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they’re calling you ‘the Chosen One’—well, come on, can’t you see why people are fascinated by you?”

Harry was finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, even though the ceiling still looked cold and rainy.

“ _And_ you’ve been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the mark on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway…”

“You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look,” said Ron, shaking back his sleeves.

“And it doesn’t hurt that you’ve grown about a foot over the summer either,” Hermione finished, ignoring Ron.

“I’m tall,” said Ron inconsequentially.

“But I have a boyfriend,” Harry protested quietly.

“No one knows that,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “You two haven’t really broadcasted it about, for obvious reasons. Besides, aren’t you having issues with him right now?”

“Yeah, come on, Harry,” Ron interjected, “haven’t you gotten over this phase yet?”

“Look,” Harry sighed, he couldn’t go into this with them, especially not in the middle of the Great Hall, “let’s just talk about something else, okay?”

The post owls arrived, almost as if on cue, swooping down through the rain-flicked windows, scattering everyone with droplets of water. Most people were receiving more post than usual; anxious parents were keen to hear from their children and to reassure them, in turn, that all was well at home. Harry had received no mail since the start of term; even when Aries had returned earlier in the week, he had been disappointed. He was very surprised, therefore, to see the snowy white Hedwig circling amongst all the brown and gray owls. She landed in front of him carrying a rather large scroll. A moment later, one of the school owls landed beside her carrying a large, square package at the same time an identical package landed in front of Ron, crushing beneath it his minuscule and exhausted owl, Pigwidgeon.

“Ha!” said Harry, unwrapping the parcel first to reveal a new copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ fresh from Flourish and Blotts.

“Oh good,” said Hermione, delighted. “Now you can give that graffitied copy back.”

“Are you mad?” said Harry. “I’m keeping it! Look, I’ve thought it out—”

He pulled the old copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ out of his bag and tapped the cover with his wand, muttering, _“Diffindo!”_ The cover fell off. He did the same thing with the brand-new book (Hermione looked scandalized). He then swapped the covers, tapped each, and said, _“Reparo!”_

There sat the Prince’s copy, disguised as a new book, and there sat the fresh copy from Flourish and Blotts, looking thoroughly secondhand.

“I’ll give Slughorn back the new one, he can’t complain, it cost nine Galleons.”

Hermione pressed her lips together, looking angry and disapproving, but was distracted by a fourth owl landing in front of her carrying that days copy of the _Daily Prophet_. She unfolded it hastily and scanned the front page, as Harry relieved Hedwig of her burden. He broke the seal and six smaller scrolls rolled onto the table in front of him.

“What are those?” Ron frowned at the strange occurrence. “Who sent them?”

“I’m assuming it’s from Naruto,” the bespectacled teen picked one up and read the name scrawled across it before hastily shoving it into his pocket and picking up the next.

“No,” he frowned as he opened it, “this one’s from Kiba.”

“Why would you be expecting something from them?” Hermione asked, distracted from her paper.

“I wasn’t expecting anything from anyone but Naruto,” Harry shook his head. “I wrote to him at the start of term, asking for advice on what to do about Trowa.”

“Oh,” she nodded. “Well, what do they say?”

“ _‘Harry,’_ ” he read quietly, so only the three of them could hear. “ _‘It’s been awhile. How’re things? How are Fred and George? Have you defeated Voldemort yet? I miss you guys. You should write more, or better yet, come and visit! We’d love to have you. Don’t know where we’d put you, but I’m sure we’d figure something out. Anyway, Shino and Akamaru say hi. Tell the others hi, too. Kiba.’_ ”

“Wow,” Ron shook his head, “I’d almost forgotten all about them. Maybe we should tell Fred and George to write him. What’s the next one say?”

“Well,” Harry picked up the next one after slipping Kiba’s into his bag, “let’s see. _‘Harry, Wow. Damn it’s good to hear from you. Things are going great here. I haven’t become Hokage yet, Lady Tsunade says I need training in politics first, but it’ll be soon. As for Neji, I’ll let him tell you as he says he’s gonna write you too. Now, about this brother of yours. You kinda didn’t give me much. I mean, it could be a huge trap set up by your enemies, but why would they do that? According to Shika it’s an odd play for someone who has come after you so directly so many times in the past (and you really don’t argue with Shika, he’s a genius when it comes to strategy). So, I say get to know him. What can it hurt? You and I, we don’t have family, so take what you can get. He could be the best thing that ever happened to you, especially after what happened to your godfather._

_Now, about Draco… you could always smack him upside the head or kick his ass. It’s the best method for knocking sense into bastards like that. And either he’ll come around on his own or you drag him back kicking and screaming. Anyway, I should probably wrap this up. And don’t hesitate to ask anything, even if it seems stupid (I may yell at you if you do, but sometimes that’s what you need). Also, if you feel that you truly need us, don’t hesitate to call, Hermione should still have that summoning paper. Later, Naruto._

_P.S. Ya know squirt, the brat has a good head on his shoulders, so take his advice to heart, okay? Also, tell Sevvie I said hi. Kyu.’_ ”

“You know,” Hermione frowned. “I hadn’t even thought of the new students being sent by Voldemort but it is a possibility.”

“I hadn’t either,” Harry shook his head. “But I kinda agree with Shikamaru, it seems unlikely. Anyway, shall we continue?” he picked up the next scroll. “ _‘Harry, Don’t listen to Naruto. Just because your life is not as bad as others does not mean you do not have your own problems. Get to know your brother. Family is important. I know I would still be lost without the support of my own siblings. Speaking of my siblings, they are heading to England so they will more than likely stop in for a visit. Look for them in the coming months. Gaara.’_ ”

“Why would he tell you not to listen to Naruto and then give you the exact same advice?” Ron stared at the letter incredulously.

“It’s… complicated,” Harry shook his head, reaching for the next one. He broke the seal and quickly slipped it inside his pocket, before moving on to the next. “ _‘Harry, I am well, thank you for asking. I feel that any advice I give you will seem redundant, but I will say this: talk to them. Talk to this brother of yours. Talk to Draco. Keep the lines of communication open. Don’t let things bottle up inside. It will eat you up inside. On another note, don’t forget to keep up with your studies. And I wish you the best in another note, don’t forget to keep up with your studies. And I wish you the best in everything. And don’t forget about us, we will always be here for you if you need us. Neji.’_ ”

“So that would make this one from Sakura,” Hermione indicated the final scroll.

“Most likely,” he shrugged and unrolled it. “ _‘Harry, Hermione, and Ron, How are all of you? I hope all your injuries healed well. It was nice to hear that you wrote. Anyway, take care of yourselves. Don’t do anything reckless, or stupid. Sakura.’_ ”

“I wonder why it seems that some of them knew exactly what you wrote and others just knew that you wrote?” the bushy haired witch frowned.

“Probably because Naruto only told the others I wrote,” the bespectacled teen shook his head, “while Neji was probably there when he read it. Though, I’m not sure about how Gaara found out.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” she picked up the newspaper once again.

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As Harry had expected, the trials took most of the morning. Half of Gryffindor House seemed to have turned up from first years, who were nervously clutching a selection of the dreadful old school brooms, to seventh years who towered over the rest, looking coolly intimidating. The latter including a large, wiry-haired boy Harry recognized immediately from the Hogwarts express.

“We met on the train, in old Sluggy’s compartment,” he said confidently, stepping out of the crowd to shake Harry’s hand. “Cormac McLaggen, Keeper.”

“You didn’t try out last year, did you?” asked Harry, taking note of the breadth of McLaggen and thinking that he would probably block all three goal hoops without moving.

“I was in the hospital wing when they held the trials,” said McLaggen, with something of a swagger. “Ate a pound of doxy eggs for a bet.”

“Right,” said Harry. “Well… if you wait over there…”

He pointed over to the edge of the pitch, close to where Hermione was sitting. He thought he saw a flicker of annoyance pass over McLaggen’s face and wondered whether McLaggen expected preferential treatment because they were both “old Sluggy’s” favorites.

Harry decided to start with a basic test, asking all applicants for the team to divide into groups of ten and fly once around the pitch. This was a good decision: The first ten was made up of first years and it could not have been plainer that they had hardly ever flown before. Only one boy managed to remain airborne for more than a few seconds, and he was so surprised he promptly crashed into one of the goal posts.

The second group was comprised of ten of the silliest girls Harry had ever encountered, who, when he blew his whistle, merely fell about giggling and clutching one another. Romilda Vane was amongst them. When he told them to leave the pitch, they did so cheerfully and went to sit in the stands to heckle everyone else.

The third group had a pile up halfway around the pitch. Most of the fourth group had come without broomsticks, except for three of the four new sixth years who flew with such ease it almost seemed like they weren’t using brooms at all and made Harry want to grab his Firebolt and join them in the air. The fifth group were Hufflepuffs.

“If there’s anyone else here who’s not from Gryffindor,” roared Harry, who was starting to get seriously annoyed, “leave now, please!”

There was a pause, then a couple of little Ravenclaws went sprinting off the pitch, snorting with laughter.

After two hours, many complaints, and several tantrums, one involving a crashed Comet Two Sixty and several broken teeth, Harry had found himself three Chasers: Katie Bell, returned to the team after an excellent trial; Trowa Barton, or James Potter, or whatever he wanted to be called, who had flown with an acrobatic grace Harry had never seen before and his aim was spot on, not missing a single shot he took; and Ginny Weasley, who had outflown all the competition, except Trowa, and scored seventeen goals to boot. Pleased though he was with his choices, Harry had also shouted himself hoarse at the many complainers and was now enduring a similar battle with the rejected Beaters.

“That’s my final decision and if you don’t get out of the way for the Keepers I’ll hex you,” he bellowed.

Fred and George had nothing on his new Beaters, and he couldn’t be more pleased with his choices: Duo Maxwell’s chaotic style made him as unpredictable as any Bludger; and Heero Yuy’s precision and aim when redirecting them was almost scary. All in all, the pair of them were a force to be reckoned with and Harry felt confident they would be a perfect asset to the team. They now joined Katie, Trowa, and Ginny in the stands to watch the selection of their last team member.

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At a quarter after eight, Harry made his way out of Gryffindor Tower and down to the dungeons for his detention. He arrived at exactly eight thirty, but was surprised when he saw not Snape but the new assistant Defense teacher, Professor Uchiha or rather Itachi-Sensei.

“Where is Snape?” Harry asked confused.

“ _Professor_ Snape had another matter to attend to,” the assistant professor answered calmly. “Now, I believe you have your task, so get to it.”

The teen huffed but went over to the nearest table, where the buckets of flobberworms were already set out. With a scowl, he began the sorting process.

“This is fucking disgusting,” he muttered quietly in Japanese. At least with Snape not supervising, he could get away with talking quietly. Or so he thought.

“I would watch your language if I were you, Mr. Potter,” the quiet voice of the assistant Professor cut easily across the empty room.

“What?” Harry asked, startled.

“Just because you can speak a different language, doesn’t mean that others do not understand it,” dark eyes met green. “Now, I don’t care how disgusting you find the task, you earned yourself this detention, so I suggest you get back to it.”

“Yes, sir,” he nodded.

Without another word, he turned back to the flobberworms and got back to work. The silence continued for quite awhile, and Harry had almost forgotten the teacher was even present. That was, until the other spoke again.

“Are you almost finished, Mr. Potter?”

“Uh, yeah,” the teen nodded, just realizing he could see the bottom of the buckets.

“Good,” he slowly pushed to his feet and made his way over. “While you finish, I have a few questions for you.”

“O-okay,” Harry hesitated slightly.

“First of all,” Itachi stopped beside him and leaned his hip casually against the table, “how do you know Kakashi Hatake?”

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” the bespectacled teen shook his head.

“I believe you do,” he countered evenly. “His chakra signature is all over you, especially in your mind.”

“Wait,” Harry held up his hand, flinging a few flobberworms in its wake, “are you saying you’re a shinobi?”

“I see you do know what I’m talking about,” a smirk flitted across his features. “However, I believe our time is up. I’ll let you go for now, but we will discuss this at a later point in time. Have a good night, Harry.”

Harry gave him a strange look before washing up and leaving the dungeon. As he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, his mind was reeling with what just happened. The questions swirled endlessly and without direction in his head, but he knew one thing for certain, he needed to talk to Hermione as soon as possible.


End file.
